


Met a Boy at Seventeen

by ashisverymuchonfire



Category: Bandom, Pierce the Veil, Sleeping With Sirens
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - High School, Character Death, Drug Use, Gangs, M/M, Smut, Violence, kellic - Freeform, this fic is wild you'll just have to read it lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-01 23:43:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 90,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4039135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashisverymuchonfire/pseuds/ashisverymuchonfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last thing anyone expected Kellin to be interested in was romance. Especially not toward a guy. Especially not toward a guy like Vic. What people don’t know is this: Vic and Kellin have history, and the kiss that Kellin gives Vic in the middle of the hallway is anything but random. That kiss could do nothing…but it has the potential to change everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so yeah I'm posting this whole thing at once because it was already written and posted on other websites and blah blah blah and yeah. The tags pretty much say it all, I think - some darker subjects/scenes, quite a bit of violence, occasional smut, and some fluff here and there. Plot twist: KELLIN IS DOMINANT HOLY SHIT. hopefully that won't stop you from reading it though. there's really only smut in like 2 scenes and plus idk I think I did a pretty good job with DominantBadass!Kellin. but yeah. here you go.
> 
> also considering that the first chapter is a prologue the actual first chapter will technically be chapter 2 and then the whole fic is gonna be slightly messed up wHICH ANNOYS ME but whatever lmao

**Prologue - Kellin**  
  
On the day that I decided to kiss Vic Fuentes, I saw a guy get stabbed in the chest.  
  
This was not as big a deal to me as it probably should’ve been. But it’s a relatively common occurrence in the city, where I live, and that was not the first time I’d witnessed murder. The first time was before my family even moved to the city, when I was seven years old and the mailman got shot right outside of our house as he was dropping off a package. (I’ve never been able to figure that one out. Who’s gonna deliver the mail if you shoot the mailman? What did he even  _do_? He was just a mailman.)  
  
But I’m not going to talk about the mailman right now. I’m going to talk about the guy I watched get stabbed in the chest.  
  
I was walking to school when it happened—what a great way to start the day. I kind of feel like I caused it, because when I woke up that morning, the first thing I said to my friend Justin was, “It’s a beautiful day to die.” And it was a pretty beautiful day…and someone did die. He died holding onto my hand like it was his only lifeline.  
  
Afterward, I figured I’d better call an ambulance, even though I knew it was a lost cause. I’d seen the actual death. I’d seen the life leave him.  
  
I am not talking about this as a means of therapy (though God knows I probably need it). I am talking about this in relation to Vic Fuentes.  
  
Now, how do I describe Vic? He is the type of guy to, if he ever won the lottery, give it all away because he feels that other people deserve it more than he does. He is also the type of guy to pretend to speak a different language just to avoid talking to someone. He is cautious in a way I could never hope to be, and he is quite possibly the most genuine person I’ve ever met.  
  
Vic probably doesn’t seem like he has anything to do with the guy who got stabbed. But, see, let me explain. When I saw that guy die, it made me realize something: Life is too short, and it’s especially too short to wait. I could have all the time in the world, or I could have only today. Someone could kill me just as easily as they killed that guy—maybe even easier, since I have a tendency to piss people off. And then I’d be just another person who wished they’d tried for what they wanted.  
  
This is where things start making sense, because what I wanted was Vic. That fact—the fact that I’m attracted to males—caused me meaningless angst for the longest time, until one night I had a dream. In this dream I was standing in front of a mirror, and my reflection looked me right in the eyes and said, “Kellin, you’re gay. Now get on with your life.” Nonetheless, I woke up feeling more enlightened and self-confident than I had in about three years.  
  
So after I realized that I couldn’t afford to waste any more time, I did it. I kissed Vic. I didn’t care whether he’d kiss me back or push me away and scream bloody murder. I kissed him because that was what I wanted to do, and I’d deal with the consequences when I had to.  
  
And what  _were_  the consequences, direct and indirect? What, exactly, could happen as the result of a kiss?  
  
Well…a lot of things.


	2. Good to See You Again

**Chapter 1 - Vic**  
  
If someone ever asked me to describe my childhood in one word, I would use the word “chaotic”.  
  
My little brother Mike is probably about 99.8% of the reason for this. He was the one with the constant tantrums, the destructive rages, the night terrors. He was the moody one, who never even moved half the time and never stopped moving the other half. He was the unpredictable one, the one who was always climbing the roof and playing in the street.  
  
And then there was me, the responsible one, who by the age of five had already learned the basics of being a parent. Sometimes it was fun, especially during those younger years, because in my mind, Mike was a creative genius. He came up with the most brilliant games and projects—and he still does, though he hasn’t finished a single one of them. This is because half the time his attention span is approximately 2.5 seconds long, and the other half, he just doesn’t have any motivation.  
  
Things are less chaotic now, with Mike fifteen and me seventeen, but they’re always tense. I don’t have the innocence and enthusiasm I did when I was a kid, either. Back then, I was oblivious to Mike’s mood problems, mental breakdowns were forgotten within five minutes, and I didn’t constantly worry that something bad was going to happen to him.  
  
This is what I’m thinking about as I lie in my bed, since I woke up at five in the morning and can’t seem to fall back asleep. Automatically, I wonder when I’ll have to start being on my guard again. Lately Mike’s been in a sort of in-between state, coming out of one of his low modes. This means that soon his high mode will begin, and that’s when I have to be at my most protective. I like to think of it in a cycle: After a high mode, he starts to slow down from all the energy he just burned off the last couple months or so, and for another couple months (more or less) he recharges that energy. Now that the low mode is coming to an end, the energy has been recharged.  
  
My alarm goes off, signaling that it’s time for me to officially wake up and get ready. I climb out of bed and head for the shower, groaning to myself as the depressing Monday mood settles over me. I probably could’ve done this hours ago, but why be early for school? I don’t particularly enjoy it, or even mornings in general. Maybe I’ll get used to it in the next few weeks, since it’s early September and my senior year has only just started, but probably not.  
  
When I get downstairs, Mike is standing at the front door impatiently. Mom and Dad have already left for work. “How’d you get ready so fast?” I ask.  
  
"Woke up early," he replies. He smirks. "Hurry your ass up, or I’m leaving without you."  
  
"You can’t drive," I point out, taking a PopTart from the pantry.  
  
"I can try," he says, turning the doorknob.  
  
I grab my backpack with one hand, carrying the PopTart package with the other. I don’t trust that he’s being completely sarcastic, so when he opens the door, I slide out in front of him and make a run for the car. “Fuck you!” Mike yells, chasing after me like we’re still little kids. I jump into the driver’s seat, flipping him off as he takes his place in the passenger side.  
  
"Come on, I wouldn’t have crashed it or anything," he says. I just stare at him skeptically as we pull out of the driveway. "Probably," he adds.  
  
"Sorry, Mikey. Not taking any chances."  
  
For a few moments he mourns his defeat, before suddenly popping back up and switching on to an entirely different topic. He talks fast; the only reason I can understand him is because I’m used to it. Talking fast—that’s something he does a lot during a high mood. Is it that time again already?  
  
Within ten minutes, we have traveled deeper into the city, fought through the morning commute, and successfully parked outside of school. Mike hops out immediately, and I trail behind, lowering my head automatically as I push through the double doors. It’s irrational to think that if I can’t see the other kids, they can’t see me, but I still feel safer if I don’t look at them. Nobody really bothers me, actually; it’s just that back at my other school, even eye contact was an invitation for harassment. Old habits die hard.  
  
I stop by my locker, and while I’m standing there, I happen to glance to my left. That’s when I see Kellin leaning against the wall, watching me, and I can’t help but stare right back.  
  
For a moment it’s just us, our gazes locked together. But then I remember that he can see me just as well as I can see him, so I shake my head and turn back to my locker. Right before I start to walk to homeroom, I take one more glance, just to see if he’s still staring. He isn’t. He’s turned away now, too, covering his face with his hands in what looks like frustration.  
  
It’s been a little over three months since I last spoke to Kellin Quinn—Kellin Bostwick, if you want to be technical, though he seems to have dropped that name somewhere between then and now. He’s changed, but not in a bad way. He holds his head up higher, the way I used to before life at my old school became constant danger. It’s his old school, too, actually—he arrived there in March and left in May, to this one. Then, as fate would have it, I moved over the summer. Lo and behold, the Bostwick-Fuentes Task Force—as we, for whatever reason, decided to call ourselves—was back in business. Except it wasn’t. We still haven’t had some sort of official reunion. The most we’ve interacted has been with knowing silence and awkward eye contact.  
  
We observe each other, though—quietly, no doubt taking note of every little detail. At least, I have, and this is what I’ve come up with:  
  
For one, he isn’t as low on the social ladder anymore. He still isn’t anywhere near being “popular” or “preppy”; it’s just that people treat him with a little more respect. It might be the new, confident stride that I still can’t seem to get over. The leather jacket—which I’m 99% sure he didn’t have three months ago—definitely contributes, along with the fact that he doesn’t speak often. It’s not that he’s shy; it’s that he’s developed a doesn’t-give-a-shit-either-way type of attitude. It’s become easier to see his tough side. Even though he looks feminine, everyone can tell there’s something deeper about him—something dangerous. I never used to think of him that way, but on his last night before moving, Kellin proved to me that he certainly can be dangerous.  
  
I wonder if he’s noticed anything about me. I wonder if he thinks about my head-lowering habit, which is old to me but new to him. I wonder if he’s noticed the nose piercing I got over the summer like I’ve noticed the tattoos on his chest and arms. I wonder if, when he saw me on the first day of senior year, his breath caught and his heart started beating faster and he had to blink a few times to be sure that it was real.  
  
Vic, you have  _got_  to get out more.  
  
The day continues in a fashion similar to the way it started, with me drifting through my classes and not interacting with anyone except for occasionally Mike. He texts me near the end of my last period, asking:  
  
 _Have you been stalking PB all day again?_  
  
I bite my lip to keep from laughing during my history teacher’s lecture. “PB” stands for “Pretty Boy”, and Pretty Boy is Kellin—Mike knows I have a thing for him, though he doesn’t know the details.  
  
I reply with:  
  
 _Absolutely not._  
  
His response:  
  
 _Liar. Liar liar liarrrrr. I saw you giving him googly eyes like 3 times today._  
  
I text back:  
  
 _I was not._  
  
Mike says:  
  
 _Ducking liar._  
  
Quickly followed by:  
  
 _Fucking*_  
  
I can’t stop a short giggle. It’s nearly silent, but my teacher Mr. Bitters—and yes, the last name is  _very_  accurate—turns around anyway. “Something funny, Victor?”  
  
"I wouldn’t really describe history as funny," I say, discreetly shoving my phone back in my pocket and hoping my facial expression is as deadpan as I think it is.  
  
"Exactly. So why are you laughing?"  
  
"I don’t know what you’re talking about," I say. "I’m not laughing." It’s not a complete lie—I’m really  _not_  laughing.  
  
Mr. Bitters sighs. “Just…don’t do anything to further disrupt this class.”  
  
"Wouldn’t dream of it," I mutter, keeping silent about the loophole: Does that mean I can disrupt any  _other_  class?  
  
After a few seconds, I hear a faint flutter of paper and look down at my desk. Someone has passed me a small note. Making sure that Mr. Bitters doesn’t have his eagle eyes aimed at me, I open it up underneath the desk. Written in messy handwriting I immediately recognize is:  
  
 _Isaac Newton’s hair._  
  
Wait, what?  
  
But there’s more, so I keep reading.  
  
 _Seriously. Go look him up on Google Images. Now that’s something funny about history.  
  
—you know who_  
  
And I do know who. I glance across the room at Kellin, who is smiling faintly, before pulling my phone back out and sending a message to Mike:  
  
 _I just got a note from PB._  
  
Almost immediately, he replies with this:  
  
 _A LOVE LETTER????_  
  
I cover my mouth with my hand so I don’t laugh again, then text back:  
  
 _You could call it that._  
  
Mike says:  
  
 _FANTASTIC. By the way I’m getting a ride home with a friend today so you’ve got the car. Don’t wait for me. Later fucker_  
  
I look up at the clock. It’s almost time for dismissal, so I put my phone away and stare at the note in my hand. When the bell rings, Kellin doesn’t say anything to me about it, or even look my way. It makes me think that I might just be hallucinating.  
  
—  
  
I’ve been home for two hours, and Mike still hasn’t come back.  
  
My parents haven’t mentioned it yet, but I know they will if he doesn’t show up soon. They treat me like his personal bodyguard. Every word they say to me is in relation to my brother, like I’m just second best. I guess I am.  
  
"Vic."  
  
I look up from playing my guitar at the sound of my dad’s voice, preparing myself for the inevitable.  
  
"Where’s Mike?"  
  
"He said he was getting a ride home with a friend today," I say slowly.  
  
"Which friend?"  
  
"He didn’t say." After the words are out of my mouth, I realize I should’ve made something up.  
  
"You just let him go off like that?" Dad snaps. "He could be with some fucking gang leader or something. I tried to call him, but he didn’t answer. Get up. You’re helping us look for him."  
  
"Okay," I say, setting the guitar down on my bed and standing up. I know better than to argue.  
  
Downstairs, Mom has already grabbed her purse. “We should split up,” she says. “We have a better chance of finding him.”  
  
"I can walk around the city," I say.  
  
"I’ll drop you off near the edge," Dad says.  
  
So Mom gets into her and Dad’s car, and Dad and I get into mine. I try not to think about the fact that they’re so worried about Mike getting into trouble in the city, but for him, they won’t hesitate to send their other son into it alone. I mean, sure, I’m older, but he’s taller and less of a target. Then again, he goes looking for trouble.  
  
I’m dropped off about five minutes later, where the buildings get taller and closer together. I walk slowly down the sidewalk, skimming the area in search of a familiar face. I pull my phone out and try calling him, thinking that maybe he’d answer me when he wouldn’t answer Dad. But there’s nothing, so I decide to leave him a voicemail: “Get your ass back here, Mikey. Or at least tell me where you are so I can kick it. Or else you won’t get to hear about my love letter.”  
  
Mike is a sucker for my mostly boring love life, for whatever reason. If he checks his phone, that threat will get him to answer for sure.  
  
Until then, it looks like I’ll just keep walking. I don’t know what his friend’s car looks like, or even what friend he’s with, so I can’t use that. I know where he’s supposed to be, but not where he is. If he does drive past, it’ll probably be too fast for me to look inside the car and see him, let alone flag him down. And there are so many fucking cars.  
  
 _Think, Vic. Where does he go when he does this? Where does he turn up at?_  
  
I don’t know, actually, because he always returns home eventually without any of us having to find him first, and he never tells us where he goes. I should be searching, but I know it’s no use. He’ll probably call us later—from home. He’ll be sitting on the couch, flipping through TV channels and laughing at us for making such a big deal out of his mystery adventure.  
  
But my parents will kill me if I go home without Mike. I have to stay in the city, if only to pass the time procrastinating until my brother decides to drop the line. I just need something to help me procrastinate.  
  
Before I know it, I’m rounding a corner and stopping in front of a club. I don’t go to these places that often, but it gives me something to do, and it can be fun sometimes. So I show my fake ID—another thing I got over the summer—to the bouncer standing out front, and then I step through the door.  
  
I’m only inside for about two minutes, my eyes only just starting to adjust to the lighting, when I see someone I know.  
  
It isn’t Mike. He doesn’t even have a fake ID that I know of, and I don’t have that kind of luck. So of course it isn’t Mike—it’s a guy named Justin Hills. A friend of Kellin’s.  
  
I hide behind a small group of people and peek over someone’s shoulder to get a better look. Is he alone? On the one hand, I really hope so, but on the other hand I really don’t. I want Kellin to be here, and at the same time I don’t.  
  
"Hey, Justin!" calls a high-pitched voice. "Heads up!"  
  
An iPhone flies through the air from across the room, and Justin catches it with one hand. “So  _you’re_  the one who stole my phone!” he calls back, grinning.  
  
Kellin pops out of nowhere, rushing to Justin’s side. “Come on, you can’t be  _that_  surprised.”  
  
Suddenly I realize that the group of people has moved, and though we’re surrounded by a crowd, at any moment Kellin or Justin could look over and catch me watching them. I duck my head and start to make my way to the bar over on the left. When I glance back, Kellin is looking somewhere else, but Justin is staring at me. He nudges Kellin, who turns around. Justin nods in my direction, and Kellin’s eyes widen when he notices me.  
  
Goddammit, Justin.  
  
I quickly look away and move faster, hoping that they’ll lose sight of me when I venture deeper into the crowd. But no—when I steal another glance, they both still have their eyes on me. They’re talking, too, though I can’t hear what they’re saying.  _Look away,_  I think, hoping I’ll suddenly gain some sort of psychic powers that will make my prayer come true.  _Look away and forget I exist._  
  
I’m so busy watching over my shoulder that I don’t notice who’s in front of me until I crash right into him.  
  
"Whoops, sorry," Craig says automatically, before recognizing the person he just collided with. He smirks, and I forget how to breathe (and not in a good way). "Well, look who it is," he says deliberately. "I never thought I’d see the day that Vic Fuentes entered a club."  
  
"Uh," I say. I don’t know how else to respond.  
  
"How about you and I have a little fun?" Craig suggests. Then he punches me in the face.  
  
I reel backward, seeing stars. Before I even have time to fall, he’s at me again, knocking me down.  
  
"Hey!" Kellin yells. Craig looks up, giving me enough time to pull myself back to my feet. "Yeah, I’m talking to you!" Kellin says, positioning himself between the two of us.  
  
"Get out of the way, loser," Craig says dismissively.  
  
Kellin just shakes his head. “Sorry, can’t do that.”  
  
Craig reaches for Kellin, about to shove him aside, but Kellin slides out of his way, grabbing Craig’s arm and pulling him forward. Craig stumbles, startled—he’d have an exclamation point above his head if this were a video game—and I step backward. Craig grabs Kellin and pushes him down, but Kellin just latches onto Craig’s sleeve and pulls himself up, smirking.  
  
Craig shoves him again and aims a fist at me, but Justin, appearing from out of nowhere, grabs Craig’s arm and twists it. “I don’t think so.”  
  
"Go!" Kellin says to me. "We’ll handle it."  
  
I open my mouth to argue. “But—”  
  
“Go!” Kellin interrupts. “We’ve got it.”  
  
It doesn’t  _look_  like they’ve got it. Justin and Craig are in a brawl, with Craig winning by brute force. Kellin pulls out a knife. “Trust me,” he says. “We can handle it.”  
  
I just stare at the blade in shock. What’s he going to do with it?  
  
As if reading my mind, Kellin says, “Don’t worry; I won’t actually use it. He’ll be off and running as soon as he sees it. Go, Vic.”  
  
I nod slowly, then turn and push my way back through the mess of people. I can’t believe no one has noticed what’s going on—or maybe they have, and it just doesn’t surprise them. I want to take another look at the fight I left behind, but I know better, so instead I just make my way back to the front doors of the club.  
  
It’s still light outside, and as I’m getting used to the brightness, a familiar figure runs past me. In that split second, I know exactly who it is, and I turn around to try to find him. When I catch sight of him again, he and a guy I don’t recognize are getting into a car I also don’t recognize.  
  
"Mike!" I shout.  
  
Mike pauses in the middle of closing the driver’s side door. “Vic!” he shouts back, popping his head out. “Get over here!”  
  
I head over to the car and hop into the back, since the guy I don’t know is sitting in the passenger seat. Mike closes the door. “Where have you been?” I demand.  
  
"The city," Mike says, as if it should’ve been obvious. "With Tony." He gestures to the guy in the passenger seat.  
  
"I’m assuming this is his car?" I say.  
  
"Yep," Tony replies. "You’re Mike’s brother, right?"  
  
"Guilty as charged," I reply.  
  
"So, Vic," Mike says, raising his eyebrows at me in the rearview mirror. "Can I hear about that love letter?"


	3. For a Pessimist, I'm Pretty Optimistic

**Chapter 2 - Kellin**  
  
Well, that’s one way to liven up your night.  
  
Eventually Craig gives up, since there’s one of him and two of us, and we’re “not even worth it” anyways. I suspect that the knife had some part in it, too; people get nervous when I pull that on them, and though he’d never admit it, Craig was no exception. I could see it.  
  
I’m not too surprised that he started a fight. Vic and I are like walking targets around here, for one main reason: the night right before I moved to the school I go to now. If either of us run into a kid from our old school—like Craig, one of Vic’s many ex-friends—we’re fucked.  
  
Speaking of Vic, he’s long gone. On the one hand I’m relieved because now Craig can’t hurt him, but on the other, I kind of—okay, I  _really_ —wanted him to stay. Even if I didn’t talk to him. Plus, just because Craig won’t attack him, that doesn’t mean nobody else will.  
  
Justin snaps his fingers in front of my face. “Hey. Kellin. What is so damn special about that front door? You’ve been staring at it for the past ten minutes.”  
  
"Oh," I say, slipping back into reality. We’re both sitting at the bar with drinks in our hands, and I’ve been thinking about Vic.  
  
"Need some of this?" Justin asks, holding out a couple of white pills.  
  
I stare at the ecstasy for a moment before shaking my head. “Nah, not tonight.”  
  
Justin shrugs and drops them into his pocket. “So I saw you pass a note to Vic in history today.”  
  
"I did," I say.  
  
He raises his eyebrows. “A shitty poem confessing your undying love?”  
  
I snort. “Hardly. I told him to look up Isaac Newton’s hair.”  
  
"Oh, yeah, because Isaac Newton is  _totally_  gonna get you the guy of your dreams.”  
  
"Why," I say, "must you put it in the most melodramatic of terms?"  
  
"To make you uncomfortable. Is it working yet?"  
  
Before I can answer, our friend Jack Fowler rushes up to us, followed by Gabe Barham. Last I saw them, about fifteen minutes ago, they were on the dance floor. I can tell just by the looks on their faces that something’s wrong.  
  
"Justin. Kellin. We’ve got a problem," Gabe says.  
  
Justin leans forward. “What kind of problem?”  
  
"The Oli Sykes and Josh Franceschi kind."  
  
Justin and I exchange glances.  _Not good._  Oli and Josh run a small gang, with Oli as the leader and Josh as his second-in-command (and boyfriend). Over the summer, we got into a bit of trouble with them. That was around the time that I learned to carry some sort of weapon with me wherever I go.  
  
"What are they doing?" I ask. "And why are they here?"  
  
"I don’t know, but they look pissed," Gabe says. "All I know is, blood’s gonna spill tonight."  
  
"Hell no," I say, standing up and setting my drink down. "Not if I can help it."  
  
Jack holds one hand up. “Wait.” He points across the club. On the other side, leaning against the wall, are Oli, Josh, and the rest of the gang, whose names I don’t know (though I’m pretty sure there are at least two Matts). Okay, I do know one other person—Jesse. He used to be friends with us, but now he’s with them, so I try not to think about him. They’re all talking, but over the blaring music, there’s no way I can hear them. Jack can read lips, though, so we all shut up as he watches them.  
  
After a few minutes, he turns to us. “Well, apparently some guy stole their car and is out joyriding with it or something. They kept calling him by his last name, so I guess they know who it was, and they’ve run into him before.” He glances at me. “So here’s a little question….How common is the last name Fuentes around here?”  
  
 _Fuck no._  
  
Justin and Gabe both just stare at me. (Why, because we all know I’ve got the hots for a certain Fuentes boy? Fuck you, guys.)  
  
Justin turns to Jack in disbelief. “You’re telling me that Vic Fuentes stole a _car_?”  
  
Jack shrugs. “I don’t know. They just kept saying ‘that Fuentes kid’. Do we know anyone else who would fit that description?”  
  
"Vic’s little brother Mike," I suggest.  
  
"Well, either way, your imaginary boyfriend is involved," Justin says to me. I smack him.  
  
"And either way, they’re fucked if we don’t do something," Gabe adds in a more serious tone. "Unless they have some sort of secret fighting skills. But even then, there’s two of them and, like, ten people after them."  
  
"In other words," I say, pulling my knife back out, "we’re going on a rescue mission."  
  
For a moment, they all just look at me. Then, with a faint smile of amusement, Jack nods. “Yes. We’re going on a rescue mission.”  
  
The expressions on their faces make me feel like I’m missing something. “What?”  
  
"Just…you," Justin says. "I never thought you could be so…I don’t know. Protective."  
  
For a moment there’s an awkward silence. Then I look over at where the gang was just hanging out. “Hey,” I say, pointing. “They left.”  
  
We all exchange glances. We can’t lose them. So I push past Justin, Jack, and Gabe, leading the way to the front door and sliding my knife back into my pocket. “Fuck you guys,” I call over my shoulder. “Now come on. Tonight, we’re Mike and Vic’s personal bodyguards.”  
  
—  
  
"Some bodyguards we are," Justin mutters. "We can’t even find the bodies we’re supposed to be guarding."  
  
So, we seem to have lost sight of the enemy. Calling Vic is not an option, considering that I smashed my old phone the night before I moved, and I can’t remember his number to save my life. That’s one thing that probably contributed to us not talking after that—we couldn’t, unless we ran into each other in public (we didn’t).  
  
But I digress.  
  
We know where the gang meets, since we’ve been there before, but I highly doubt that that’s where Vic and/or Mike will end up on their own, unless the gang finds them and takes them captive or something. I wouldn’t put it past them to do that, but in this case, it doesn’t seem likely.  
  
What other leads do we have, then? None. I don’t know where Vic went after he left, I haven’t seen Mike at all, and we lost the gang while we were busy talking. The gang is probably just as lost—the only thing they have to go on is their car, and there are tons of those all around.  
  
So now we’re just kind of wandering down the sidewalk, searching aimlessly. We decided to split up—me and Justin, Jack and Gabe. I know, I know; this is the mistake that every character in a horror movie inevitably makes. But we have a better chance of finding something quickly if we monitor two places at once.  
  
Unexpectedly, Justin spins around and takes a few steps back. “Hey, Kellin, I think I found something.”  
  
I stop and backtrack to where Justin is standing. He holds a somewhat familiar-looking knife in his hands. “I saw it lying on the ground. And look at this.” He points to a sloppy engraving carved into the handle. The engraving is two letters—initials: “OS”.  
  
"Oliver Sykes?" I guess.  
  
"Think so. We’re on the right track, then. Do you think he dropped it or something?"  
  
I shake my head as a thought occurs to me. “Justin, do you think Oliver Sykes is the kind of person who just  _happens_  to drop his knife?”  
  
Justin looks back up at me, eyes widening. “Fuck.”  
  
The word barely leaves his lips before two guys are on us—grabbing us, pushing us, dragging us to an alley where no one will see the fight break out and call the police. I recognize them both but can’t put names to their faces (though neither of them look particularly Matt-ish).  
  
I struggle in the grip of the first guy’s, while Justin fights to break free of the second. Now that I think about it, it was probably a bad idea to put both of the smaller guys (me and Justin) in the same group. Too late now.  
  
"Kellin!" Justin says. "Duck!"  
  
I sink my body as low as I can go, knowing what’s about to happen. Justin smirks—then spits. The guy attacking me screams as it hits his face, probably blinding him temporarily.  _Bullseye._  
  
I use this moment of weakness to break free, then rush to Justin and his attacker, who has him in a headlock. Without thinking, I jump on top of the guy’s back, more focused on getting out of this situation than I am on professional fighting moves. Guy #2 yells and tries to push me off with one hand, weakening his hold on Justin. Guy #1, having recovered from the saliva attack, rushes to help.  
  
"Don’t you guys have guns or something?" I tease, discreetly pulling my phone out of my pocket. "Aren’t you in this scary, badass gang?"  
  
"We’re only supposed to be stalling you," Guy #1 says, "until the job is finished."  
  
"Well, that bites," I say, punching him in the face.  
  
Underneath me, I hear a yelp of pain. Guy #2’s body crumples beneath me, and I jump off of him as Justin slides out from under him, holding a now-bloody knife. “I still had Oli’s knife,” he says simply. Guy #2 is lying on the ground with one hand held up to a bleeding wound. Guy #1 steps forward and swings his fist, but I grab it out of midair and twist it downward. Justin punches him, knocking him to the ground.  
  
"We better run," I say as soon as he falls. Justin nods, and we dart out of the alley, both of us hoping that we don’t look too suspicious (and that no one notices the bloodstained knife).  
  
I call Jack, who answers on the first ring. “Hello?”  
  
"Red…cup," I gasp. "Red cup" is a code word of ours, used as a sort of SOS call. "We ran into two people from the gang…don’t know who. I think we’re on the right track—"  
  
"Whoa, holy shit!" Jack interrupts. "Looks like we are, too!"  
  
Then I see what he’s talking about. Even though we started out in opposite directions, because of the route we traveled, I guess we just made a circle or square of some sort. Farther down the sidewalk, into the distance, I can see Jack and Gabe heading toward me and Justin, with Jack on the phone. And racing down the street toward us is an old-looking, beat-up red car…with Josh and Oli on top of it.  
  
"What the  _fuck_ ,” Justin says as the car swerves into another alley between where my and Justin’s sidewalk meets Jack and Gabe’s. I’ve been jumped by Oli and Josh before, but I’ve never seen them jump a car. Do they think they’re in some action movie or something?  
  
Jack and I quickly hang up, and we all sprint for the alley. The car is parked now, and a couple more gang members have shown up (Jesse isn’t one of them). They look like they’re prepared to break some windows, but before they have to, three people get out of the car. Mike is behind the wheel, and a guy with plugs that I don’t recognize is in the passenger seat. Vic climbs out of the back, looking like a startled innocent bystander that got caught up in our mess.  
  
"No!" I yell, knowing what Oli and Josh do when they get mad. "Get back inside! Drive away!"  
  
This, of course, alerts everyone of our presence, but it doesn’t matter. I run forward, with Justin on my heels and Jack and Gabe surrounding them on the other side. Vic takes a step forward, head whipping around frantically to take everything in, but Oli—still on top of the car—reaches out, takes Vic’s wrist, and yanks him back in. “You’re not going anywhere.”  
  
I march right up to the car and punch Oli without any hesitation.  
  
That’s when all the fighting breaks out. Oli’s gang converges on us in the darkness of the alley. Oli grabs me by the shirt and nearly smashes my head into the window, but I put a hand on the car and use it to push myself away. Oli jumps down, grabs my shirt again, and pushes me up against the side of the car. “Don’t get involved, Bostwick.”  
  
"Quinn," I correct.  
  
He stares at me, confused. “What?”  
  
I jerk forward, pushing him off of me with both hands and escaping his grasp. “Quinn,” I repeat, turning around. “The name’s Quinn.”  
  
I glance to my side. Mike is ducking punches and returning them, dodging blows left and right. Meanwhile, Josh has Vic in a chokehold, and Vic is practically flailing. Mike is definitely the more experienced one here, so I turn my attention to Josh and Vic.  
  
Oli can see me make this decision and dives for them at the same time I do. I pull my knife out, which stops Oli in his tracks. He doesn’t have his—he left it behind as bait.  
  
Suddenly, Josh lets go of Vic. “You’re not worth it,” he pants. Turning to Oli, he says, “It’s the other Fuentes we want.”  
  
"Go at him," Oli replies. He nods at me. "I’ve got something else to take care of."  
  
Vic glances at me breathlessly. “What—”  
  
"Can’t talk right now," I say, as Oli shoves me backward.  
  
Someone else grabs me from behind. Automatically, I spin around and stab him in the shoulder. The guy lets go, and when I turn my attention back to Vic, he’s standing there staring. “I thought you said you wouldn’t use it,” he says.  
  
I start to throw another punch at Oli as he steps forward, but then he pulls out a gun. I stop in mid-swing.  
  
"That was for Craig," I say to Vic. "He’s a lot different from these guys."  
  
"In what way?"  
  
"He gets nervous at the sight of a knife." I nod at the fighting going on around us. "But as you can see, these guys don’t." I turn my head slightly to look at Oli, who now has the gun pressed to my head. "You wouldn’t, Oli," I say. "Not over a car."  
  
"They stole it," says the guy I stabbed.  
  
Vic raises his eyebrows. “Hey, Tony!” he calls, in the direction of the guy with the plugs. “I thought you said this was your car!”  
  
Plugs Guy—Tony, I guess—looks up from the guy he’s fighting after delivering another blow. “It is!”  
  
"They’re saying you stole it!" Vic says.  
  
Tony pushes the guy down, narrowly dodging what would’ve been a nasty cut. “ _They_  stole it from  _me_! We were taking it back!”  
  
Okay, that’s it. Playtime’s over. “Tony, Vic, and Mike!” I yell.  
  
Before I can say any more, Oli claps a hand over my mouth, adjusting the gun slightly to get the point across. One word, one move, and I’m dead.  
  
Keeping everything else absolutely still, I flick my gaze back and forth between Vic and the car, hoping he’ll get the message. Vic stares at me for a few seconds before announcing, “Tony! Mike! In the car!”  
  
Everyone fighting Jack, Justin, and Gabe immediately turns to the three guys bolting for the car. Two people grab Mike, who wrestles free of one of them and punches the other in the face. He yanks the driver’s side door open, jumps inside, and slams it shut as Vic hops into the back. The car starts up.  
  
Tony is surrounded by three guys, but Justin jumps into the middle of them, swinging two knives—one his, one Oli’s. Tony slips free, and as soon as he slides into the passenger seat, they tear away, driving through the alley to the other side.  
  
Oli is so busy watching this that he doesn’t notice Jack discreetly sneaking up behind him. That is, until Jack tackles him, knocking the gun out of his hand.  
  
I run to the side of the alley we came from, beckoning with one hand. “Let’s go!”  
  
Jack jumps up and follows. Gabe knees someone in the crotch before breaking free. Justin swings his knives wildly, making a few more random cuts in anyone who dares to come close, then chases after the rest of us.  
  
We sprint down the sidewalk, but when I look back, nobody is behind us. “Okay,” I gasp. “I think we’re good. They probably…didn’t think we were worth chasing after.”  
  
"Think anybody called the police?" Gabe asks.  
  
I take a look around. This is a more run-down, abandoned area of the city. This is the less safe, less inhabited area, where most of these types of things happen. People care even less out here than they do in the regular parts of the city. “My guess is that, if anybody saw, they either didn’t care, didn’t want to get involved, or didn’t think it was worth reporting because it’s so common,” I say.  
  
Jack laughs a little. “We live in a shithole.”  
  
Justin nods. “And now Kellin and I are gonna go back to our shithole apartment. I am, at least. I’m calling it a night.”  
  
"Me too," I say. "I don’t know how many more punches I can take today."  
  
So Justin and I separate from Jack and Gabe, who each have their own houses to go to, and head on our way to our shared apartment. Justin and I are both eighteen, but Justin pays most of the rent. Well, technically his parents do, since it’s their money, but he’s the one spending it. They gave it to him to use while he’s finishing up high school. (Since he’s eighteen, they let him live where he wants to. How’s that for pretty cool parents?) I help pay when I can, but I don’t have a job, and it’s a joke to even consider that my parents would want to help me. With anything.  
  
Justin unlocks the door and flicks on the light. “Shitty apartment, sweet shitty apartment,” he sings. “Hey, Kellin, come here. I want to show you something.”  
  
"Uh…okay," I say slowly, following him as he leads me back to my bedroom.  
  
Justin turns on the light and points to my bed. “You know who would look really good in that bed right now?”  
  
"Who?"  
  
He grins. “Vic.”  
  
I smack him for the second time tonight. He sticks his tongue out, then walks the two steps from my bedroom to his. “Okay, seriously, though—I’m going to bed,” he says. “What are you going to do?”  
  
I shrug. “Probably light a cig and ponder the meaning of life.”  
  
"Well, have fun with that." He closes the door behind him.  
  
I close my own bedroom door and open the window, digging a pack of cigarettes out from the drawer in my side table. Sitting next to the window, I light up one cigarette and put it to my lips, letting the smoke trail out into the polluted city air.  
  
—  
  
"It’s a beautiful day to die," I tell Justin the next morning as we’re grabbing our backpacks and heading out the door.  
  
"It is," he agrees. "I’m not dying today, though, if that’s what you’re implying. I don’t care how beautiful it is." He glances over his shoulder as we exit the apartment building. "Are you taking the long way or the short way?"  
  
I think for a moment. Maybe I should switch it up a little and go the short way for once. But old habits die hard, so in the end I say, “The long way.”  
  
Justin makes a face. “Suit yourself.” Then we head off in opposite directions. He knows I always take the long way to school, but he still asks me every day in case I ever change my mind. I like the long way, though. I get to walk through the city more, and walking through the city is interesting.  
  
And when, after about five minutes of walking, I hear a scream, I know that something interesting is about to happen.  
  
Up ahead, one guy chases another into an alley. Curious, I follow them and find that the first guy has pinned the second one to the wall. I assume that the second guy is the one who screamed. I don’t know either of them, but I do know that the first one is holding a knife.  
  
I open my mouth, but before anything can come out, the first guy stabs the knife into the second one’s chest. Guy #2 yelps as Guy #1 pulls the knife out, then shoves it back in again. Guy #2 starts wailing as Guy #1 keeps going—it looks almost like horror movie material. (Just add a creepy ghost girl.) “Hey!” I yell.  
  
Guy #1 spins around, startled. Before I can get a good look at his face, he yanks the knife out, turns, and darts away.  
  
I turn to Guy #2, who is lying on the ground and moaning in pain as the blood spills out of his chest. “Hey,” he rasps, reaching his hand out to me. “Hey…you.”  
  
I kneel down beside him. “Yeah?”  
  
He grabs my hand and holds it tightly. He’s a young guy, maybe a few years older than me. He has an entire life left to live. “Tell Mena,” he says slowly. “Mena Goode. Tell her…tell her I love her. Tell her it’s…from Taylor. She’ll know that it’s…me.”  
  
I nod, meeting his eyes. It doesn’t matter that I’ve never known anyone by the name of Mena Goode. I will find her and I will tell her that this guy, this Taylor, loved her.  
  
A few seconds later, his grip on my hand loosens. The moans stop. His chest fails to rise and fall. I know it’s too late, but I call an ambulance anyway.  
  
Then I stand up and walk away from the alley, thinking about what just happened. I just watched a life end. A life full of potential. A life that should’ve been longer than it was.  
  
That could be me someday.  
  
Suddenly, I get an idea, and I know I have to put it into action as soon as possible. I could die tomorrow, and I refuse to die without having reunited with an old flame first.  
  
So today, I am going to kiss Vic Fuentes.


	4. Kiss Me Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is so long holy shit how did that happen

**Chapter 3 - Vic**  
  
As we’re driving to school, Mike tells me, “You know, what happened last night is probably a lot more common for Kellin than you think.”  
  
I tighten my grip on the wheel. I don’t want to think about the possibility that that wasn’t the first time Kellin’s been held at gunpoint. I mean, I knew there was something more to him, but god _damn_. Mike’s probably right.  
  
I can hear him talking about something different now, but I’m not paying attention to what he’s saying. I’m thinking about Kellin, and his knife, and how I never saw that guy (Oli?) take the gun away from Kellin’s head. I assume that he did eventually, but my mind still gets stuck on that off-chance: What if Kellin died because of me? What if he did something and Oli pulled the trigger?  
  
This fear is erased when I walk down the school hallway and see him standing by his locker. He’s talking to Justin, who looks up, spots me, and nods in my direction. (Damn, he never misses me, does he?) Kellin turns around, and there’s a weird look on his face that I think is indecision. Then he shakes his head, and it’s gone, so I keep walking.  
  
During my first period class, I pull my phone out and, per Kellin’s request, look up Isaac Newton’s hair on Google Images. That was probably a bad idea, since now I can’t stop smiling. Hopefully my own hair, falling into my face, will disguise it and minimize the amount of weird looks I get.  
  
This gets me to thinking: Was last night the start of something? Or are we just going to go back into our regular lives, not saying anything and pretending we don’t know each other? I want to talk to Kellin again, like I used to. But he could have moved on since when he left in May. He’s got friends now, which is more than I can say he had when we first met. The only reason we ever started talking was because we got assigned as partners for a project. Last night probably had more to do with the people attacking us—it seemed like Kellin knew them—than it had to do with me.  
  
Craig told me once—back when we were friends—that I think too much and too deeply, that I think myself out of happiness by focusing more on what could be than what is. But sometimes I don’t know what is, so the only things I can think about are the what-ifs.  
  
What if Kellin  _did_  move on?  
  
What if he didn’t?  
  
What if there’s another problem I don’t know about?  
  
Mike told me yesterday that if Kellin didn’t feel anything for me, he wouldn’t have bothered to send me a note, especially not on something so random and trivial. The question is whether or not Mike knows what he’s talking about, which has yet to be determined.  
  
I’m walking through the hallway, heading to my second class, when I feel someone grab my arm. I spin around. “What—”  
  
In the span of less than a second, Kellin grabs me by my chin, leans forward, and kisses me on the lips.  
  
My heart rate triples and my breathing nearly stops; I can’t believe what’s happening. I close my eyes, but a few moments later—way too soon—he pulls away, so I reopen them. He’s staring at me, smiling in satisfaction. Everything around us has gone quiet. “I missed you,” he whispers, before turning around and walking away.  
  
I just watch him, wonderstruck. Automatically, I lift one hand up and let my fingers lightly touch my lips. Kellin glances over his shoulder and nods, as if to say, Yes, loser, it was real. “Meet me at the front door at dismissal,” he calls, then continues walking.  
  
Conversation starts up again. I expect an endless stream of insults, but surprisingly, it doesn’t come. I think most kids are still trying to wrap their head around what just happened—I know I am.  
  
"What the fuck?" I mutter to myself, before remembering that I have a place to be and two minutes to get there. So I rush to my next class, sit down in my seat, pull my phone back out, and send a deceivingly calm text to Mike:  
  
 _Good news. I think PB might still have a thing for me._  
  
Immediately, he replies:  
  
 _HE FUCKING KISSED YOU IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING HALLWAY OF COURSE HE DOES_  
  
Jesus, news spreads fast.  
  
I say:  
  
 _Don’t you mean ducking?_  
  
"Hey, Vic!" some kid calls as everyone else takes their seats. "Got a new boyfriend?"  
  
There it is. The comment I’ve been waiting for.  
  
"Maybe," I say dismissively, glancing back at my phone. Mike has sent me another message:  
  
 _Fuck you. Tell me all about it tell me tell me tell meeeee_  
  
So for the entire class period, Mike and I text back and forth, me telling him everything I can about Kellin and him freaking out and saying how proud he is of me (as if  _he’s_  the older one here). Personally, I’m still in shock. It went by so fast that it almost feels like it’s all just a delusion. Maybe I’ll wake up and it’ll be Monday morning again, and not only will today prove to be a crazy dream—last night will, too.  
  
Before I know it, the bell is ringing, so I stand up and head out the classroom door. Almost as soon as I step foot in the hallway, some guy calls, “Hey, faggot! Get a room next time!”  
  
I turn around to the sound of the voice and find that, sure enough, the insult is directed at me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Kellin take a step toward us. His friends Jack and Gabe each grab one of his arms to hold him back.  
  
I turn to the guy talking to me. “I’ll be sure to do that,” I say. “Thanks for the advice.” Then I push past him before a big shitstorm can start, feeling somewhat proud that I managed to come up with a response other than “Uh.”  
  
The rest of the day basically consists of this same event over and over again in slightly different forms, both for me and Kellin. You’d think that by now he’d have known better than to make a kiss like that so public. It’s too late now, though, so I continue through the rest of my classes, willing the day to go faster so I can meet him at dismissal and ask him what the fuck he was thinking.  
  
Finally, I’m in history, and Kellin refuses to look at me. This is strange, considering he always openly stared at me before. Is he embarrassed or something? Is he afraid the kiss made things awkward between us? That doesn’t sound like him.  
  
But when the dismissal bell rings and we all flood the hallways, I make a quick stop at my locker and then rush to the front door of the school, where Kellin is already waiting. He nods at me, showing little emotion. “Let’s go outside,” he suggests. I can barely hear his voice over the sounds of everyone around us.  
  
We push through the double doors and sit down on the bench outside the school, letting everyone else clear out. People glance our way, whispering and laughing, but we just sit in silence with similar expressions of boredom.  
  
At last, the schoolyard and parking lot have pretty much emptied out, so Kellin turns to me. “So, Vic,” he says, smiling. “We’ve got some things to catch up on.”  
  
 _I’ll say._  “What the hell did you think you were doing?” I blurt. “What do you think people are going to think now? Do you think they’re going to just leave us alone? Were you even thinking at all?”  
  
Kellin raises his eyebrows, but he doesn’t seem that surprised. He shrugs. “Truthfully, no, at that particular point in time I was not thinking much at all,” he says sheepishly. “And no, I do not expect people to just leave us alone. They’re probably going to think that we’re in a relationship, or that I have some sort of one-sided crush on you or something.”  
  
I groan, covering my face with my hands. It’s going to happen all over again. “ _Why_?” I ask. “ _Why_  did you do it like that?”  
  
"I told you, I didn’t think. I wanted to kiss you and every time I saw you in the hall my brain just kind of went, ‘Okay, Kellin, now’s your chance.’ I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again outside of school and I just…wanted you to know that I still remember. Why do you care what these people think?"  
  
"Because this is what happened last time!" I snap, taking my hands away and turning to face him. "You moved right after, so you didn’t see what happened. You know what happened? My reputation went to  _shit_. It was the whole reason we switched to a different school. My old one was dangerous. And now it’s going to happen again and I can’t take that.”  
  
Kellin stares at me for a few seconds. No doubt he remembers. Then he says, “Your parents made you transfer schools because of that?”  
  
I know why he’s surprised—because it seems like they actually did something for me. “Yeah,” I say. “It was…distracting me. Plus, kids would beat me up, so then I spent a bunch of time in the hospital…”  
  
"The  _hospital_?” he repeats, eyes widening.  
  
I nod. “And Mike was…getting into some trouble. Because I wasn’t there to keep an eye on him.”  
  
Kellin nods, too. “Oh. I see now.”  
  
For a moment we both just stare. “Well,” he says slowly, “at least if you move again you can get away from me.” He says this like it’s supposed to be a perk.  
  
"What?" I shake my head. "But I don’t want that."  
  
He raises his eyebrows again, though this time he does seem surprised. “Really? I thought you were mad at me. For making things so…public.”  
  
I shake my head. “I’m not mad. I’m just…worried, I guess.”  
  
He looks away. “Well…what did you think of the actual kiss?”  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
He turns back to me, twirling his hair with a few fingers, which is something he does when he gets nervous. “Like…the kiss itself. Forget about the circumstances surrounding it. We both know how I feel. Justin only mentions it every two seconds.”  
  
I smile at that. I don’t know Justin very well, but somehow it sounds like something he’d do.  
  
"But you, Vic?" Kellin continues. "I want to know what you thought of it. What you think of me." For the first time, he looks shy. Even at our old school, I’d have used "antisocial" to describe him, but never "shy". Maybe that  _was_  what was going on with him in history today.  
  
"What I think?" I say. "I think you should kiss me again."  
  
With that, the shyness is gone. Kellin takes the side of my face with one hand and pulls me in with a rough kiss that catches me off-guard. I get used to it quickly, kissing back with equal energy. I slip both my hands underneath his shirt, opening my mouth slightly. He slides his tongue inside, and I don’t fight back, letting it explore my mouth as my fingers explore his body. This is what I’ve been waiting for. This is what I’ve wanted for so long.  
  
We separate for a few seconds as I stand up from the bench. I sit down on Kellin’s lap, wrapping my legs around him, and he pulls me back in as I start to grind against him.  
  
Suddenly, I hear a car door slam and footsteps getting closer. We break the kiss, and I climb off of him, sitting back down on the bench. “Well,” I say breathlessly, “ _that_  was fast.”  
  
"I guess that’s what happens when you go through withdrawal," Kellin jokes. He’s trying his hardest to appear as though he did not just have a make-out session with anybody. I, however, know that I’m completely screwed, so I don’t even bother to try to cover it up.  
  
"Wow," says a familiar voice. "I didn’t think I’d get a full-on porn session."  
  
That’s when I remember. Yesterday was an exception—normally, Mike and I drive home after school together. My car is still in the parking lot, sitting right where I can see it. And Mike was probably waiting in the passenger seat—right where he can see us.  
  
"Have you been spying on us?" I say as he walks up to us.  
  
Kellin covers his mouth with one hand to keep from laughing. His face is bright red.  
  
Mike nods, smirking. “Guilty as charged.”  
  
I concluded from last night’s antics that Mike’s high mode is starting up, and during this time, his attention span is shorter than I am. But no matter what mood he’s in, the one thing that never fails to spark and hold his interest is…well, my love life.  
  
"Well," Kellin says, clearing his throat. "We should probably get going…y’know, so we don’t get arrested for loitering or something."  
  
"Good point," I say, standing up and trying not to think about the problem in my lower region. "Hey, Kellin, do you want us to drive you home, or will you just do your usual way?"  
  
"Uh, just the usual way," Kellin says. "But I want to take you out later. Maybe we can walk around the city or something."  
  
"Ooh," Mike says suggestively. "Sounds nice."  
  
“ _You’re_  not invited,” I say. He sticks his tongue out at me, and I turn to Kellin. “I’d like that,” I tell him. “Your number doesn’t work, though.”  
  
"Yeah, I got a new phone after I broke my old one," he says, standing up. "And I need your number, too."  
  
So we switch numbers, putting them into each other’s contacts while Mike says something about his math teacher. Then Mike and I climb into the car, and as we start to drive away, I slow down and lower my window. “Hey, Kellin!” I call. “Isaac Newton’s hair is funny.”  
  
"I told you!” he says, smiling widely.  
  
"Oh—and does this mean the Bostwick-Fuentes Task Force is back in business?"  
  
"No," he says. "But the Quinn-Fuentes Task Force is."  
  
—  
  
I text Kellin my address, and a few minutes after dinner, he shows up outside my house in a gray car. I’m planning to sneak out, since I know my parents won’t let me be somewhere that Mike isn’t unless I have to be, but then I hear my mom yell, “Who’s that outside our house?”  
  
"Shit," I mutter. In response to Mom’s question, I yell back, "Everyone who isn’t inside our house!"  
  
Mom bursts into my room. “Okay, I’ll be more specific.” She heads over to my window and points at the car. “Who’s  _that_  outside our house?”  
  
"Uh, my friend," I say. "We were, uh, gonna go out tonight."  
  
She narrows her eyes. “Which friend?”  
  
"Kellin. You remember Kellin, don’t you?"  
  
She nods. “Oh, yeah, I remember Kellin. He was a nice kid. Is Mike coming with you?”  
  
"No," Mike says behind me, making me jump. "But I say you should let him go, Mom."  
  
"Mike, I’m sorry," Mom says, her tone immediately softening, "but I just don’t know if I can trust you, especially not with what happened last night."  
  
"I promise I won’t do that again," Mike says. "I’ll stay here. I swear."  
  
I stare at him in astonishment. He’s arguing with Mom just so I can go on a…date.  
  
I look out the window. “Well, I don’t want to keep him waiting,” I say. “So I’m just gonna…go.”  
  
Mom stares at Mike for a few more moments before finally saying, “Fine.”  
  
“Yes!” Mike and I shout in unison. I run out of the room, flying down the stairs and across the main floor, yanking the front door open and sprinting for Kellin’s car like I’ve got Satan on my heels.  
  
“ _Some_ one’s excited,” Kellin says as I hop inside. “I was just about to honk the horn. You know what? I’m gonna do it anyway, just to show you.” He presses the button, which plays that loud, stereotypical trumpet rendition that I can imagine every boot camp uses as an alarm system.  
  
"Oh my God, that’s hilarious," I say, laughing. "How does it do that?"  
  
"I don’t know," he says, pulling out of the driveway. "It’s not my car; it’s Justin’s."  
  
"Oh," I say, wondering why he’s using Justin’s car. "So, where are we going?"  
  
"Uh, I thought about stopping at my place first if you wanted to."  
  
"Yeah." I nod. "I assume your parents are cool with it?"  
  
Kellin laughs awkwardly. He’s twirling his hair. “Uh…yeah. About that.”  
  
"What?"  
  
"Um," he says. "I’m not living with my parents anymore."  
  
Well, he’s eighteen now—we celebrated his birthday together—so I don’t know what the big deal is. There’s probably more to the story, but I decide not to push the issue. “Oh. Where do you live, then?”  
  
"Near where we were last night," he explains, relaxing a little bit. "Justin and I share an apartment. That’s why I’m using his car."  
  
Within about fifteen minutes, Kellin parks in front of a shitty-looking apartment building near the edge of a shitty-looking neighborhood. By this point, we’ve switched topics and are now having a (very intense) discussion of the My Chemical Romance breakup. (That was one of the first things that got us talking when we first met, since it had only just happened, but it’s been almost six months and our emotions have not changed much.)  
  
Kellin bangs on the door of one of the apartments. “JUSTIN!” he yells. “OPEN UP!”  
  
Justin says something in response, but his voice is muffled. A few seconds later, the door opens. “Wow,” he says when he sees me. “Did you seduce him already, Kellin?”  
  
Kellin and I burst into laughter, and Justin lets us in. The place isn’t very clean, but at least I can see the floor. Justin has sat back down on the couch, where he’s playing some video game and eating pretzels. “Hey, you guys wanna play?”  
  
"Stop procrastinating and do your homework!" Kellin shouts.  
  
"No. Fuck you." He pops another pretzel into his mouth.  
  
"Okay, Vic," Kellin says, spreading his arms out. "This is my place."  
  
"Well, excuse  _you_ ,” Justin says. “ _Your_  place?”  
  
"Oh, I’m so sorry," Kellin says sarcastically. " _Our_  place.”  
  
Justin snorts. “It’s not even  _our_  place. I just let you live here.”  
  
"As if it’s a privilege," I say to myself. Kellin starts laughing again, and Justin shoots me a death glare.  
  
Kellin grabs my hand and leads me down the hall, still laughing. “Come on, I’m gonna show you my room.”  
  
"He’s gonna show you something else, too, Vic!" Justin calls.  
  
"Fuck you!" Kellin yells, before turning his bedroom light on, leading me inside, and closing the door. "Well, that’s one of the downsides to hanging out with me," he says to me. "You have to deal with my friends."  
  
"If you wanna be my lover," I sing, "you gotta get with my friends…"  
  
Kellin snorts. “Well, I don’t have any friends,” I add, “except for Mike. So you don’t have to worry about that.”  
  
His facial expression changes immediately. Now he’s frowning. “You used to have a ton of friends.” He turns away, and under his breath I think I hear him say, “If you hadn’t met me, you’d still have all those friends.”  
  
"Kellin," I say. Kellin looks up. After a few seconds, I say, "Even if…something happens and we do move, I think I’ll get transferred to a school near here, so I’d probably still run into you sometimes. My parents want to stay in this area, for whatever reason."  
  
"Are you serious?" Kellin says, lightening up again. " _This_  area? It’s like the fucking black hole of California. People always talk about how nice this state is, and then there’s this place.”  
  
And then we’re off, ranting about the shitty area we live in when I happen to glance out the window and see a frighteningly familiar figure down below. “Uh…Kellin?” I interrupt.  
  
He stops. “Yeah?”  
  
I point. “I didn’t get a very good look at faces last night, so can you tell me if that’s who I think it is?”  
  
Kellin leans over and looks down into the parking lot. A group of people are heading for Justin’s car. “It is,” Kellin says slowly, looking back up at me. For a moment we just stand there, startled, with our gazes locked in realization. Then, at the same time, we bolt for the door. Kellin violently swings it open, letting it slam against the wall, and we both run out into the living room.  
  
"Justin!" Kellin yells, flinging the apartment door open. "Your car!"  
  
Justin pops up from the couch. “What about it?”  
  
But Kellin is already running down the hall.  
  
"Come on," I say, chasing after him.  
  
We’re on the second floor, and we’re not waiting for the elevator. I follow Kellin down the stairs, and a few seconds later I hear Justin behind us, calling, “If this is a practical joke or something, I’m gonna kick  _both_  your asses!”  
  
Kellin leads us out into the parking lot, where someone has started Justin’s car up. It looks like there are at least four people, and in the driver’s seat, I recognize Oli, backing out of the parking space.  
  
At the same time, I guess Oli recognizes us, judging by the way he floors the gas pedal after glancing in our direction. “Hey!” Kellin yells, sprinting for the car, which is now near the exit of the lot. Justin and I start to chase after him, but then he jumps, landing unsteadily on the back of the car like Oli and what’s-his-name did last night. He pulls himself forward, then slides inside the car through the roof.  
  
"Oh, yeah," I say to Justin. "I forgot we had the sunroof open."  
  
"Well, normally I’d be pissed, considering how easily someone could break in. But they would’ve broken in anyways, and now Kellin’s in there fucking shit up. So thanks for that."  
  
The car drives away, though swerving, with Kellin inside it doing God-knows-what. Almost immediately after, another car pulls up to the edge of the parking lot, and the driver rolls the window down. “Justin!” he shouts, making me realize that it’s Jack. “Did you see the gang anywhere? We’ve been chasing them for—”  
  
"I think they’re headed to HQ!" Justin replies, hopping into the backseat. I follow him and close the door, and Jack starts driving again, on the same road that the gang took.  
  
"What’s HQ?" I ask, not bothering to put on a seatbelt.  
  
"Stands for headquarters," Gabe explains from the passenger seat. "It’s the gang’s main meeting place, I guess. I don’t know if they actually call it HQ, but we do. Where’s Kellin?"  
  
"He decided to take one for the team and hijacked them," Justin says.  
  
Jack and Gabe exchange glances. “Uh,” Gabe says slowly. “Which means…?”  
  
"Which means that with he and Oli fighting over the steering wheel, they’ll probably crash before they even get to HQ," I finish.  
  
Justin nods. “Basically.”  
  
Jack sighs. “Goddammit, Kellin.”  
  
Before I know it, our car is stopping, and everyone is getting out. I start to follow them, but Justin says, “Vic, you stay here. Guard the car. I don’t want something happening to you in there.”  
  
"Nothing’s gonna happen to me," I say. "I want to help." I want to see Kellin and know that he hasn’t been eaten alive yet.  
  
"Vic, you’re not experienced," Justin says. "These guys would shoot you if you so much as looked at them the wrong way. Kellin would kill me if something happened to you because I let you in there. Sorry." Before I can object, he slams the door on me, and he, Jack, and Gabe rush inside an abandoned-looking building.  
  
But I need to see this for myself. So a few seconds later, I hop out and slowly open the door to HQ.  
  
It looks like an empty house—a really old and shitty one that no one’s been in for years. I’m guessing the gang doesn’t actually live in this place, considering the fact that, on this floor at least, there’s nothing here. I can hear voices, but they’re kind of faded. I lean down and press my ear to the floor, where they sound louder. There must be a basement.  
  
Then I notice something about twenty feet in front of me: an opening in the floor, with a staircase leading down. A trapdoor.  
  
 _A-ha._  
  
Realizing that they might be able to hear my footsteps, I slowly tiptoe across the room and down the first few stairs, just enough that I can get my whole body through the trapdoor and peer over the ledge at what’s happening below.  
  
Well, now I see why there’s nothing on the main floor.  
  
Spread out across the room are couches and chairs, a couple TV sets, some tables (including a pool table), a refrigerator, and a bunch of other random-ass things. They’ve even got a few beds ( _beds_!). Aside from the graffiti nearly covering all the walls, it seems civil. How did they even get this stuff? Could they seriously have stolen all of it? Sure, it doesn’t look the nicest, and there isn’t any sort of organization that I can see, but  _damn_.  
  
And on the right side of the room, all that furniture just sort of stops. It’s a blank, empty space, like a warehouse. But right now, it isn’t empty. That’s where the gang is. That’s where Kellin and his friends are.  
  
Kellin is standing in the middle, with Oli’s sidekick holding him in one place by the back of his jacket. Sidekick has a gun pointed at Kellin’s head. My heart, which has been hammering in my chest for the last ten minutes, nearly stops at the sight. I have a feeling I’m going to need to get used to seeing it.  
  
Kellin is holding both his hands up, and even from up here, I can see that his expression is completely calm. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he says, his voice as relaxed as his face. “Let’s not make any rash decisions.” He turns his head to see the people on both sides. Justin, Jack, and Gabe are standing on his left, while Oli and two other guys face them on his right. I know there were more than four gang members last night, but I guess they’re not all here right now.  
  
"I don’t know what you’re so mad about," Kellin continues, and as I take a closer look, I can see more blood on him than on anyone else. The shirt beneath his jacket is torn, and there’s a cut on the side of his head. "I was just taking back our car. I mean, yeah, I fucked up your plan to steal it, but you should’ve known. If you’re gonna steal a car, steal one from someone who won’t want it back."  
  
"Oh, we’re not mad," Oli says, stepping forward and turning to face him. "We like a good fight. This is what we wanted. So thanks."  
  
The sidekick removes the gun from Kellin’s head, but only to bring it back, whack it across his face, let go of his jacket, and watch him fall backwards onto the floor.  
  
I almost run down there, but then I remember that I have no weapons or fighting experience and that I’d probably just fuck things up even more. So instead, I watch as Oli’s “good fight” unfolds.  
  
Justin attacks Sidekick, while Jack and Gabe focus on the other two guys. Kellin pushes himself to his feet, only to be pinned back down by Oli, who pulls out a knife and holds it at Kellin’s throat. “Hey, whose knife is that?” Kellin asks casually, not sounding at all intimidated. “Last I checked, we stole your other one.”  
  
Oli laughs a little. “Don’t think we don’t have any extras.”  
  
Then he lowers his voice and I can’t hear anything else he’s saying over the noise. Justin looks like he’s being strangled and Gabe keeps getting punched, though Jack seems to be winning his battle. When I glance back at Kellin and Oli, I see that Kellin has somehow escaped the knife and is holding up one of his own. Wait, no—Oli doesn’t have his knife anymore. Kellin has stolen it.  
  
 _Maybe I can help Justin,_  I think.  _Maybe then I’ll actually be useful._  
  
Just as I’m trying to decide whether or not to make a move, one guy looks up at the staircase and yells, “Hey, it’s the Fuentes kid!”  
  
I guess I might as well do something now.  
  
I sprint down the rest of the steps, into the empty-warehouse side of the basement. Everyone stops for a moment, their gazes all flicking to Oli to see what he’ll do. Oli turns around to look at me and raises an eyebrow, a small smirk on his lips.  
  
Kellin sees this and holds the knife up. “Don’t you dare, Oli,” he says breathlessly. “Don’t you fucking—”  
  
Oli shoves him away and races for me, but I’m (kind of) prepared and meet him with a fist in the face. The fighting resumes, and Kellin rushes to my side, but he doesn’t make it—Sidekick tackles him to the floor. At the same time, Oli pushes me down and pulls out a gun. Now I’m the one about to be shot.  
  
“ _No_!” Kellin yells, pushing Sidekick off of him, flinging his arm, and letting the knife fly.  
  
Well, the knife goes in a strange direction. It shoots up, rotating a little, like it’s the hands of a clock. Then it comes back down, and though it could definitely land on its handle…it doesn’t.  
  
It lands, blade down, in Oli’s back.  
  
His eyes widen, gaze meeting mine as his grip loosens on the gun and his body sinks down on top of me. I crawl out from under him and pull him up slightly so I can see the front of him.  
  
It’s even worse than I thought. Oli’s a skinny guy, and the knife is fairly large—I can see it through both sides, and it’s not perfectly centered, either. The handle sticks out of his back, and the tip pops out through his chest…right where his heart is.  
  
Sidekick makes a noise I can’t describe, and I step away as he rushes to Oli. Kellin has nobody holding him down now, but still he lies on the ground in shock, staring at his hand as if it has betrayed him.  
  
Desperate, Sidekick grabs the handle, before thinking better about pulling it out. “Oli,” he says, voice shaking. “Oli, don’t die on me.”  
  
Kellin stands up slowly. “Guys,” he says lifelessly. “Let’s go home. I think we’ve had enough action for one night.”  
  
I half-expect at least one of the gang members to follow us. But we make our way back up the stairs, leaving behind a depressing scene.  
  
When we get back outside, we all just kind of stand there for a few seconds, not sure what to say. Finally, Kellin breaks the silence again. “Take Justin back,” he tells Jack and Gabe. He nods to Justin’s car. “I’m going to drop Vic off.”  
  
Justin, Jack, and Gabe climb into the car Jack and Gabe came in, while Kellin and I get into Justin’s car. Then we drive off in different directions.  
  
After a few minutes of not staying quiet, I say, “Maybe…maybe he won’t die.”  
  
Kellin grips the steering wheel tighter, and he doesn’t look at me. “Vic, I watched a man get stabbed in the chest and die on my way to school today. I don’t have very high hopes for this one.” He pauses to let that sink in.  
  
"Oh." I don’t know what else to say.  
  
After a few more seconds, Kellin says, “They were boyfriends, you know. Oli and Josh.”  
  
Josh must be Sidekick. “Really?”  
  
"Yeah. Josh was like the second-in-command. Now…well, it looks like he got a promotion."  
  
We don’t say anything more until we’re back at my house. “Vic,” Kellin says, “I’m going to be… _doing_  something when I leave here. So if I’m not in school tomorrow…”  
  
"Wait," I interrupt. "Why wouldn’t you be in school tomorrow?"  
  
"Just because," he says. "And I might be. I just…wanted to let you know that I might not be. I don’t know."  
  
"Uh…okay," I say, opening the car door. "Well, I guess I’ll…see you around, then."  
  
Kellin nods absently. “Yeah,” he says. “Bye, Vic.”  
  
But he looks so drained that I can’t just leave him. So I pull him in close and give him a quick peck on the lips.  
  
He stares at me in surprise. He doesn’t seem quite sure what to make of that. “It’s not your fault,” I whisper. “I just want you to know that.”  
  
I’m about to climb out when he says, “Wait.”  
  
I turn back around. “Yeah?”  
  
"Do that again," he says. "Please."  
  
So I kiss him again, and he wraps his arms around me, pulling me closer and tangling his fingers in my hair.  
  
We stay like that for a long time that isn’t near long enough. Then I pull away and hop out of the car, slamming the door and heading up to the porch, where I stand and watch him drive away. The front door opens behind me.  
  
"Hey!" Mike says, smiling. "So, how was it?"


	5. I'll Never Let Them Hurt You

**Chapter 4 - Kellin**  
  
I should’ve kissed him longer.  
  
I should’ve kissed him so long that I’d forget about everything else, not just temporarily, but forever. But instead, I’m driving away, clenching my jaw and keeping a tight rein on my thoughts so they don’t go anywhere.  
  
I’m heading back into the city, back to the club we were at last night. Tomorrow morning, today’s events will hit me like a bus. For tonight, though, I’m going to pretend that nothing ever happened. That means I’m going to need to make myself forget, and I can’t do that by myself.  
  
I park a few blocks away to reduce the chances of someone recognizing the car and finding me. I go to this club a lot, though. I guess I’ll just see what happens.  
  
I almost don’t hold my head up while walking down the sidewalk. I almost don’t want to look even slightly dangerous. Then I remember that that makes me seem like more of a target; plus, I  _am_  dangerous—I might as well not lie about it. So I keep my head up.  
  
Sometimes the bouncers recognize me, and sometimes they don’t. This one does, and since there’s no line and we have time for small talk, he asks me, “Where’s your posse? They get sick of ya?”  
  
"I got sick of them," I reply smoothly. Then I drop the fake smile. "Dude, I’m just kind of looking for something to bleach my brain with tonight," I admit.  
  
"Well, I’ll tell you, if you drink enough, you’ll definitely have your brain bleached," the bouncer says. "There’re some sketchy-looking people in there, though, so you might wanna be careful."  
  
I nod. “I will.” As he lets me through, the words feel like a promise. A promise I intend to keep.  
  
I immediately make my way to the bar and grab an empty barstool. The bartender, Tracy, pops up a few seconds later. “Well, hey there, Kellin. You look lonely. Did your posse get tired of you or something?”  
  
I laugh a little. “The bouncer outside said that, too.”  
  
She smiles. “What’ll it be?”  
  
"Uh," I say. "Anything. As long as it causes amnesia."  
  
Tracy raises an eyebrow. “Should I be concerned?”  
  
I shake my head. “Nah.”  
  
After a moment of staring at me, she shrugs and turns to get me something. “Anything?”  
  
"Like I said, as long as it causes amnesia."  
  
I watch her prepare my drink, and when she returns, she says, “So. Are you ever gonna participate in Karaoke Night?”  
  
I shake my head and take a sip. “Nah, I can’t sing.”  
  
"Oh, don’t give me that. You’ve got a hell of a voice, Kellin."  
  
"Oh, do I?" I say. "And how would you know this?"  
  
"From talking to you," she says. "And also, Justin took a video of you singing in the shower and sent it to me."  
  
"No, he didn’t."  
  
"Well, the video doesn’t actually show anything except the door, but here you go."  
  
The next thing I know, she’s pulling out her phone and playing the video, which sounds very suspiciously like me singing “Halo” by Beyoncé. “I’m going to kill him when I get back,” I say.  
  
Tracy laughs and puts her phone back in her pocket. “Now  _that’s_ impressive. I can’t even sing that high. Which means I’m never going to leave you alone until you sing on Karaoke Night.”  
  
"Good luck with that. Don’t you have better things to do than stand around wasting your night with me?"  
  
At that moment, a guy a couple stools away from me holds his empty glass up and calls, “Hey, Tracy! Can I get a refill?”  
  
"Sure!" Tracy calls back, and resumes her duties as the bartender. "One last question, Kellin," she says to me while refilling the guy’s drink. "Why  _that_ song?”  
  
"Because it was stuck in my head like a bitch and I had to get it out somehow."  
  
With that, my banter with Tracy ends, bringing me back to reality and reminding me why I even came here in the first place. I down the rest of my drink, ready to feel a buzz. Hopefully more than just a buzz.  
  
Several refills and skeptical looks from Tracy later, I start to relax, any bad or unwanted thoughts shoved to the back of my mind. I’m turning around and talking to some people I don’t know when Tracy taps me on the shoulder.  
  
"We’ve got a problem," she says quietly.  
  
That’s exactly what Gabe said last night. “What kind of problem?” I ask, playing the role of Justin.  
  
"Well, Bobby—the bouncer—said he wanted me to warn you. Someone just came in that—from what he’s seen, anyway—I guess you don’t get along with. He says he doesn’t know much about it, but he does know that, apparently, you two don’t really mix.”  
  
"Well, who’s the person that came in?" I already have a guess, though.  
  
"Uh, Josh Franceschi." She shrugs. "I don’t know him, but I’m assuming you do."  
  
I nod, grimacing. Of course he’d find me.  
  
"Bobby said to tell you he’s alone," Tracy says. "And also to remind you not to get too smashed."  
  
"Oh, yeah," I say, holding up my empty glass. "Speaking of that."  
  
Tracy stares at it for a few seconds. Finally, she takes it from my hand, sighing. “I should not be assisting you with this.”  
  
"Well, you’re a bartender," I point out as she refills it. "That’s kind of your job."  
  
She slides the drink back to me. “Back to my point,” she says. “If what Bobby’s saying is true, you might want to be on your guard.”  
  
"I will be," I say. "I promise."  
  
Tracy nods before returning to her work. I scan the crowd, especially the people near the front door, in search of a familiar and unwelcome face. At first, I think that Bobby might be wrong, but then I see Josh. He looks like he’s scanning the crowd for me.  
  
 _Well, shit._  
  
I finish my drink and set it down, hopping off the barstool and moving to a darker corner of the club. Maybe if I hide, if I wait until he moves away from the door, I can slip out before he finds me.  
  
But before I have time to put this plan into action, he looks up—straight at me. Even from here, I can practically feel all of his emotions, and they’re not pretty ones. I have to admit, I don’t really blame him.  
  
He moves quickly toward me. I try to get away, but my body’s in slow motion, and there isn’t much of a point anyways. Now that he’s seen me, I can’t escape unnoticed.  
  
"Kellin," he says as he gets closer. A few people turn their heads in our direction, but Josh has a smile plastered on his face, like we’re old friends. Automatically, I reach for my knife. I know it’s an act, and he knows I know.  
  
"You left early," Josh says, standing right in front of me. I’ve made a mistake, hiding in the corner. Now I’m trapped, and Josh’s expression has completely changed. I expect him to punch me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he whips his knife out, grabs me by the shirt, and pins me to the wall. The knife is at my throat. "We’ve got some unfinished business, Bostwick."  
  
I don’t correct him. I don’t tease him and tell him, “You wouldn’t.” I know he would, and I still don’t blame him.  
  
I push him backward, fumbling for my knife. I’m not normally this clumsy. I think the alcohol is causing some problems for me. Kellin, you fucking idiot.  
  
Josh throws a punch. I see it coming, but I don’t dodge fast enough. For a moment I’m dizzy, seeing stars, and then I feel the tip of the knife at my throat again. One move, and the dangerous position will have me bleeding on the floor.  
  
Then I hear a quiet but threatening, “Hey.” I can tell whoever said it is close by.  
  
I expect Josh to just slit my throat right now, but to my surprise, he looks up, a smirk crossing his face. “Oh, look,” he says, lowering his knife slightly. “Your little Fuentes has decided to join us.”  
  
At that same moment, the speaker’s voice registers.  
  
 _Vic._  
  
And then there’s a fist, his fist, knocking the knife right out of Josh’s hands. I stand up, away from the wall, as Vic grabs Josh’s arm and twists it. Josh practically picks Vic up and slams him against the wall. I dive for the knife, stealing it from where it fell on the floor just as Josh punches Vic in the face, causing his head to snap back and bang against the wall.  
  
"Oh, fuck no,” I say, holding up both knives. Josh lets go of Vic and reaches for me, practically yanking his knife out of my hand. He punches me again, pushing me down. When I stand back up, Josh and Vic are locked in a battle, with Josh eventually trapping Vic again. Now, though, he’s got a knife, and that knife is right at Vic’s throat. Josh is saying something to him.  
  
I don’t think. My hand jerks, and the knife flies right out of it, just like it did when I saw the gun at Vic’s head. This time, though, it lands in the wall, inches away from them.  
  
Josh makes the mistake of glancing my way—I punch him, making him drop the knife. Vic breaks free, and I motion to him. “Let’s go!”  
  
Vic pulls my knife out of the wall—how did it get stuck in there?—and sprints for the front door. I follow him, nearly tripping over my own feet. Vic glances over his shoulder, sees this, and grabs my hand, dragging me outside.  
  
"Hey!" says a voice. I turn around, realizing that it’s Bobby. "Did that Josh Franceschi guy give you trouble like Tracy told you he might?" he asks.  
  
I nod. “Yeah,” I say breathlessly. “A, uh…mild inconvenience.”  
  
"It’s fine now, though," Vic adds.  
  
He pulls me along, and then I see his car. “Oh, wait, you don’t have to—” I begin, but Vic opens the passenger door and gestures for me to get inside.  
  
"I insist," he says, so I hop in.  
  
A few moments later, he’s driving through the city, and I’m trying to figure out what, exactly, just happened back there. “Well,” I say. “I didn’t know you could, like…”  
  
"What, fight?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
He snorts. “I don’t. I just sort of went with it and got lucky.”  
  
"How’d you know how to find me?"  
  
"Well, when you said you’d be doing something after you dropped me off…I got suspicious. Mike told me I was just being paranoid. I guess I just kind of wanted to make sure nothing bad was happening to you.” He holds a hand up. “Not that I don’t think you could’ve handled it or anything. I was just worried.” He clears his throat, probably feeling a bit awkward admitting this.  
  
I just stare at him. “You were worried about me?”  
  
"Yeah," he says, like it should be obvious. "I’ve been worried about you for the past three months. And when I tried calling you after you moved, and you didn’t answer…I thought some kids had, like, tracked you down and murdered you or something. Until I remembered your phone got smashed. I still worried, though. And wondered."  
  
"And wondered?" I repeat, intrigued.  
  
He nods. “I wondered a shitload of things. I wondered where you were, what you were doing, if you’d made any friends…” He bites his lip. “I should really learn to stop being so fucking honest all the time.” He kind of laughs. “Sorry about that.”  
  
I shake my head. “No. I like it. It’s…endearing. Yeah, I guess that’s the word. I like a compulsive truther.”  
  
Vic raises an eyebrow. “A compulsive truther?”  
  
"Yeah. Y’know, as opposed to a compulsive liar. You’re like Abe Lincoln."  
  
He looks like he’s trying to hold back a grin.  
  
—  
  
I text Justin to let him know that I will be spending the night at Vic’s house. Vic’s parents won’t allow it, so we’re going to have to be careful.  
  
Careful. I promised Bobby I’d be careful. Let’s see if I can keep that promise.  
  
Vic had planned on dropping me off at my apartment, apparently. But when I suggested the idea of me just crashing at his house, he wasn’t against it, even though he knew it wouldn’t be easy. “I mean, they like you,” he said, about his parents. “They think you’re nice enough. But you sleeping over probably would not go over well. It never does.”  
  
So now Vic is inside the house, scoping out a route that will get me to his room without having to risk a run-in with Mr. or Mrs. Fuentes. After a minute or two, my phone rings, and Vic’s name pops up. I smile a little as I answer it. I missed seeing his name on the screen.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Couldn’t have come at a better time," Vic says. His voice sounds normal, which means he doesn’t have to lower his volume so he doesn’t get caught. "They’re both in the basement. Go in through the front door and up the stairs. I’m in the room farthest to the left. Just don’t make any noise."  
  
 _Careful,_  I think to myself as I get out of the car and stand on the front porch.  _I promised Bobby I’d be careful._  
  
I open the front door, which, thankfully, doesn’t creak or make any other obnoxious sounds.  _Alright,_  I think as I make my way through the house.  _I will not trip or fall or do anything that a drunk person might do. I am going to quietly, inconspicuously—_  
  
My elbow knocks an empty cup over.  
  
Luckily, it’s not glass, so it doesn’t break. But then a woman’s voice calls up from a nearby open doorway, “Vic? Is that you? Are you back?”  
  
 _Shit._  I don’t know how to make my voice sound like Vic’s, but I should probably reply, so I just say, “Uh…yeah, Mom, I’m back now.” I really hope that’s Vic’s mom.  
  
"What’s Mike doing?"  
  
I glance into the living room, where Mike is watching TV. Well, I assume that’s what he was doing, considering that it’s on and he’s sitting in the couch in front of it. Right now, though, he’s just kind of gawking at me.  
  
"He’s watching TV," I tell Mrs. Fuentes.  
  
"Okay!"  
  
And that’s it.  
  
No “Who are you?”  
  
No “Why are you impersonating my child?”  
  
Either I sound enough like Vic for her to be fooled, or she can’t even recognize her own son’s voice.  
  
I turn back to Mike, picking up the cup. “Don’t panic,” I whisper. “I’m not supposed to be here. Vic’s upstairs?”  
  
Mike nods, still staring. “He seduced you  _already_?”  
  
I put my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing. It’s even funnier because Justin said the same thing earlier, except it was the other way around.  
  
I head up the stairs and turn to my left. When I get to the end of the hallway, I realize that there are two possible rooms that Vic could be in, one on my left and one on my right. Vic pops out of the left one, pulling me inside and shutting the door behind us.  
  
"My parents don’t really come up to check on me," he says, "unless there’s something going on with Mike. But even then, you can hear their footsteps, so if that happened you’d just go in there." He points to a large closet. "But other than that, you don’t really have to hide or anything."  
  
"Alright," I say, kicking my shoes off and into the closet so nobody sees them. Then I flop onto Vic’s large bed, sliding out of my jacket and tossing it to the floor. "Bed." I don’t know what time it is, but I do know that it’s dark outside, so Vic has the shade drawn and the bedroom lights on.  
  
Vic laughs. “No shit, Sherlock. It’s a bed.”  
  
I sit up, suddenly remembering something. “Hey. What was Josh saying to you? You know, when he had that knife…”  
  
Vic leans against the nearby wall, staring at the floor. “He said that if we—you and I—were as close as he thought we were, he’d kill me, to show you how it feels.”  
  
My eyes nearly pop out of my head.  
  
"He said he’d do it right in front of you," Vic continues. "And in the worst way possible. He sounded dead serious. It wasn’t like if you’d told your sibling you were going to kill them because they stole something from you. It was fucking  _real_.”  
  
I don’t point out that I don’t have any siblings. Besides, I live with Justin; I know what Vic means. Instead I say, “Don’t ever go near there again. Especially not alone.”  
  
"Hey," Vic says with a faint smile. "I’d say I did pretty good today. I saved your ass, at least."  
  
"I know you did," I say. "But you had the element of surprise. I mean, you said it yourself; you got lucky. You’re not always gonna be that lucky."  
  
He sits down next to me. “Do you get this way with everyone?”  
  
"What way?"  
  
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Protective, I guess.”  
  
My hands are balled up into fists, and I’m staring straight ahead. This is my reaction, it seems, to a possible threat to Vic. I’m not used to it—Vic was popular when we first met. He didn’t have to worry about dangers, so I didn’t have to worry about him. That didn’t start until the night before I moved, when for the first time, Vic was a target. I didn’t care if I was a target—I still don’t. But now Vic is getting death threats.  
  
"Hey," he says, tapping my shoulder. "Kellin? You’re scaring me."  
  
I turn to look at him, loosening my death grip on the bed’s blankets. “Sorry,” I say, lifting his chin with one finger and kissing him softly. “I just get worried about you.” And then we both smile.  
  
"Speaking of that," Vic says, sobering. "What exactly did you mean when you said you were going to be doing something? And why did you say you might not be in school tomorrow?”  
  
I sigh. “I was going to drink. A lot. I planned to drink more than I actually did. I didn’t know whether or not I’d end up passing out, or with a huge hangover, or something.” I shrug.  
  
For a few seconds, we’re both silent. Then Vic stands up to turn off the light.  
  
"Okay," he says, "I don’t care how early it is. I’m going to bed. You can sleep with me if you want. As long as I sleep on the side closest to the door, my parents won’t even realize there’s an extra person if they check in."  
  
"Fantastic," I say, burying myself under the covers. "I don’t give a shit if they do see me. This has been put off for way too long."  
  
He hops inside with me. Already I can feel his warmth. “This is perfect,” I say, pulling him closer and kissing him again.  
  
And then it’s just me and Vic.  
  
—  
  
When I wake up the next morning, I’m confused for a moment. This room doesn’t look familiar, and this bed feels way comfier than it normally does, and why is there another person in here with me? But then I remember, and I smile to myself.  
  
But then I remember something else about last night. I remember that Oli is probably dead by now, and that it’s my fault. I don’t think anybody in the gang knows first aid, which means that they’d probably need professionals to give Oli even a chance to live. And calling someone would be like turning themselves in. Even if it’s anonymous, Oli would probably be arrested afterward if he survived. So instead, it looks like they’re going to get justice their own way—by coming after me and Vic.  
  
 _And here you are, a murderer,_  my conscience whispers.  _Just sleeping away with a person you care about. Why do you even deserve to be happy with him? What kind of person are you? Don’t you feel any remorse? Any shame?_  
  
To distract myself, I try to focus on what Vic looks like while he’s sleeping. I trace the outlines of his face with my fingers, determined to think of nothing but him. He makes a little noise and pushes my hands away, rubbing his eyes. “Who are you,” he asks groggily, “and why are you in my bed?”  
  
"I’m Kellin," I reply. "You wanted me in your bed."  
  
Vic opens his eyes and stares at me for a few seconds before smiling. “Oh, yeah. What time is it?”  
  
I lean over to check the digital clock on the side table. “6:50.”  
  
He sits up slowly, his hair sticking out everywhere. “We’ve got ten extra minutes.”  
  
"We could do a lot in ten minutes," I say suggestively.  
  
Vic raises his eyebrows at that, still smiling. It’s an invitation.  
  
I pull him close and kiss him hard. He falls back onto the bed, taking me with him as I bite his lip. I’m on top of him now, moving away from his mouth and trailing kisses down his jaw. I think he’s trying not to make any noise, so that’s what I’m going to aim for.  
  
He tilts his head up, moving his hands slowly across the bare skin underneath my shirt. My lips brush against his neck—that’ll make him say something. He gasps slightly, so I push my front roughly against his. “Yes,” he says, in a tone of voice I’ve heard only one other time.  
  
And that reminds me of my place.  
  
"No," I reply, pulling back. I climb off of him, shaking my head. "I can’t," I say. "It’s too…"  
  
"Too what?" Vic asks, sitting up. I can tell he wasn’t expecting that.  
  
"Too fast," I say, almost frantic. "Too soon. Too much."  
  
He just stares at me with confused rejection written all over his face, and I hate myself for being the reason it’s there.  
  
"It’s not you," I say softly. "I swear. I just…I need to fix my shit." Then I stand up and rush out of the bedroom to the bathroom, where I turn on the sink and switch it to cold. I stick my head in, letting the icy water wash over me. I don’t know why this helps, but it always does. Maybe it’ll freeze some sense into me.


	6. Maybe They'll Leave You Alone, But Not Me

**Chapter 5 - Vic**  
  
We take our showers separately. The bathrooms are near each other, though, so I can kind of hear Kellin through the wall. Which means I can hear him yelling, “ _Idiot_!” (Among other things.) I don’t think the insults are directed at me, and judging by the loud banging, he’s probably either punching the wall or knocking his head against it. He seems to be more angry at himself than at me, and I’m not sure which I’d prefer.  
  
I’m still trying to figure out why he cut us off so abruptly. I’ll probably be trying to figure it out all day. He said it wasn’t my fault, but when isn’t it my fault? I must’ve done something wrong. Or maybe it was just what he said—that it was too fast, too soon. But it’s been three months, and Kellin is not the type to wait patiently. I’m right here, and I want him—is it just that he doesn’t want me?  
  
Mike tells me I think too much. He’s probably right.  
  
The first thing Kellin says when we get out is, “It feels weird showering at someone else’s house.” He doesn’t mention our spontaneous make-out session, or its spontaneous end. He also doesn’t mention the fact that we’re both standing naked in my bedroom with only towels to cover us. He instead decides to embrace it without question.  
  
This means that he throws the towel to the side as he picks his clothes off of the floor, still acting completely casual. “I didn’t bring anything extra, so it looks like I’m wearing the same clothes I did yesterday,” he says. I try not to stare at his ass. (Keyword:  _try_.)  
  
"Uh," I say as he pulls on his boxers and then his pants. "You can borrow a shirt or something, you know."  
  
He shakes his head. “Nah. I don’t want to leave anything here. Thanks, though.”  
  
For a moment I just stare at him, still shirtless, all pale skin and tattoos that just make him even more attractive. Then he pulls his shirt back on, which is when I realize that under the towel, I’m still completely naked.  
  
Kellin seems to realize this at the same time I do, and he smiles a little. “I’ll go now, if you’re embarrassed.”  
  
I nod. “Yeah. That might be a good idea.”  
  
So he grabs his jacket and his shoes, and then he’s out, closing the door behind him.  
  
Alright. Now I can get dressed without Kellin having to know what the sight of his naked body did to me. (Then again, he probably did know. Despite what happened earlier, I wouldn’t be surprised if the only reason he changed in front of me was to arouse me. Well, it worked.)  
  
When I get downstairs, Kellin is popping two no-longer-frozen waffles out of the toaster. “So, where’s Mike?” he asks.  
  
I stop in my tracks and take a quick look around. “He’s not down here?”  
  
Kellin shakes his head, taking some syrup out of the fridge. “Nope. Is he supposed to be?”  
  
"Yeah," I say slowly. "I drive him to school. He wasn’t in his room, either. And I highly doubt my parents dropped him off on their way to work."  
  
Kellin holds one waffle out to me. “What makes you say that?”  
  
I grab it from him and take a bite without any syrup. “Just a hunch.”  
  
Instead of getting a plate out, Kellin holds the waffle over the sink and pours the syrup over it, then bites into it. “Fair enough. So where is he?”  
  
I shrug, biting my lip. “I don’t know. He does this sometimes.” I make for the front door. “Let’s just get to school, I guess.”  
  
So we make for my car, Kellin still holding his syrupy waffle, me having finished mine. “Wait,” I say when we get in and start backing out of the driveway. “What about your backpack? It’s still at your apartment, isn’t it?”  
  
"Uh. I’ll text Justin and ask him to bring it. There are more important things to be discussed here, Victor."  
  
"Like?"  
  
“ _Why_  no syrup on your waffles?”  
  
I snort. “Because that’s just how I roll. Don’t question Abraham Lincoln.”  
  
"Fuck you."  
  
—  
  
From what I can tell, Mike is not in school. I’ve asked a bunch of kids that he’s friends with, but nobody seems to know where he is, and he won’t answer my texts. This would be the main problem of the day if it weren’t for the fact that, with the exception of Kellin and his friends, every person who speaks to me has an insult for me. The words are bad enough, but with people also tripping me, pushing me into the lockers, and throwing things at me (among other things), I think it’s safe to say that I’ve become the school’s personal punching bag. Again.  
  
Kellin is a bit more untouchable—that’s the fear factor kicking in. They know what happens when they hurt me (nothing). But when they hurt him? Nobody has been bold enough to find out.  
  
I’ve been watching Kellin, though, and what the kids don’t realize is that they are hurting him—by hurting me. Or, at the very least, they’re majorly pissing him off. I can see it in everything about him—his protective side is in full swing. It seems like everyone else can, too, because as much as I know they must want to torment him, they’re staying even clearer from him than usual.  
  
Well, except for some kid who says, “Aren’t those the same clothes you wore yesterday?” He’s a senior, too, one of those really big and tough-looking ones that everyone’s afraid of.  
  
"Yeah," Kellin replies calmly. "Why?"  
  
"What, can’t you even pay for another set of clothes? That why you hang out in the shithole side of the city?"  
  
Kellin doesn’t say anything for a few moments. From what he and Justin have said, the apartment is more of Justin’s than his. He doesn’t seem to have a car, either, and his parents are MIA. (But then there are things like his tattoos and his jacket. How much did all  _that_  cost?)  
  
Then Kellin says, “The reason I hang out in the shithole is because I can survive there. I think it’s funny how you notice my day-to-day clothing choice. Maybe you pay more attention to me than you give yourself credit for.”  
  
He starts to walk away when the kid calls, “That’s because you’re such a fucking fag that you’re impossible  _not_  to notice!”  
  
"I think that’s kind of pathetic," Kellin calls back without missing a beat. "That another person’s sexual orientation distracts you  _so much_. Your life must be pretty boring, dude.”  
  
Before the kid can respond, Kellin turns a corner, leaving behind what’s bound to be a shitstorm. I rush to my next class so I don’t get caught in it.  
  
The rest of the day passes the same way that it’s been. Kids continue to be douches, I continue to pray they’ll all disappear, and Kellin looks pissier every time I see him. We sit together at lunch, where he promises me he’s going to kill the next person who even looks at me the wrong way.  
  
We have calculus after lunch, but he doesn’t show up. I assume he’s busy keeping his promise.  
  
Then I get a text from him:  
  
 _Meet me in the bathroom across from the calc room. I want to talk to you in private._  
  
Well then.  
  
Fortunately, our calculus teacher happens to actually have a soul and lets us go to the bathroom pretty much whenever we want as long as we grab a bathroom pass. (Surprisingly, nobody has taken advantage of that privilege yet.) So it’s not difficult for me to get out of class. On my way out the door, someone leans over and whispers to someone else, “He’s probably going to make out with his boyfriend.”  
  
This remark almost makes me laugh, because it’s kind of true.  
  
So to the bathroom I go, and when I get there, I see Kellin sitting down with his back against the wall. His eyes are closed, and the cut on the side of his head from yesterday has split back open. In this position, he looks so burned out.  
  
"Okay," I say, "you’re taking the rest of the day off."  
  
Kellin opens his eyes and stares at me for a few seconds. “Why?”  
  
"Because you look like life just tried to drown you. Why’s that cut on your head open again?"  
  
He looks away. “I had an…encounter.”  
  
"With some kid who went too far insulting me?"  
  
He shakes his head. “With Jesse.”  
  
I raise my eyebrows. I don’t know much about Jesse. All I know is that he used to be part of Kellin’s group of friends, but then he left. “What did he want?”  
  
Kellin smiles faintly, turning back to me. “Here’s the funny thing: me. He wanted me.”  
  
"What exactly do you mean by ‘wanted’?"  
  
"We dated a while back. Then he left us and joined Oli’s gang. Well, now, for whatever reason, he’s telling me he wants out of the gang and back with us."  
  
I’m not sure what to respond to first. “And so he punched you?”  
  
"Nah. At first he was just talking to me. Then I basically told him to go to hell, and then we started fighting a little bit. Don’t worry; he didn’t want to seriously hurt me. I just…have a feeling he might be added onto our list of problems."  
  
"How long did you date?" I ask, surprising both of us.  
  
Kellin stares at me, amused. “About a month. We were friends before that. It wasn’t really anything serious.”  
  
I nod slowly, hoping to God that he’s not lying, already paranoid that he is. “Okay. So what did you want to talk to me about?”  
  
He shrugs. “Everything, I guess.”  
  
"Does this mean you want a list of people to kill?"  
  
He smiles. “It’d be nice.”  
  
"Well, you might as well kill the whole student body, then."  
  
Kellin sighs, growing more serious. “I hate people.”  
  
"Hey," I say. "I’m a people."  
  
That makes him smile again. “Good point. Alright, I hate 99% of people.”  
  
Before either of us can say anything else, I hear a bunch of footsteps and loud laughing, coming closer. I turn around, and a few seconds later, a small group of guys rounds the corner into the bathroom. I freeze in my place, and they freeze in theirs.  
  
The guys don’t even need to say anything. They’re on me in a split second.  
  
I have a faint notion of being grabbed by the hair, pushed, hit—but that lasts only another split second. Because then Kellin scrambles to his feet, and when I look up again, he’s got the lead guy pinned to the wall and is looking him square in the eyes. Even from a side view, I can see Kellin’s emotions written all over his face. And they’re not pretty ones.  
  
"Touch him again," he whispers. "I fucking  _dare_  you.”  
  
Then he shoves the kid away, and the group of guys flees, leaving me alone with Kellin again.  
  
For a few moments we just stare at each other. Then Kellin says, “I never answered your question.”  
  
I raise an eyebrow, confused. “What question?”  
  
"Last night you asked me if I’m like this with everyone. The answer is no. No, I am not like this with everyone. In fact, I’m not like this with anyone except you."  
  
No one except you. I’ve heard that phrase before, and each time, I believed it. I really want to believe it this time. I want it, just once, to be true.  
  
Kellin notices my change in mood and smiles a little, stepping closer. “Hey. Let’s forget about those guys for a second. Let’s forget about everything for a second.”  
  
So I decide to take a risk, and I nod. “Yes. Please.”  
  
And with that, Kellin closes the distance between us. The kiss is soft and sweet.  
  
—  
  
At the end of the day, I get a text from my mom, telling me to drive straight to the hospital after school. This is not a good sign.  
  
What-ifs run through my head the entire way. What could have happened? We don’t have any dying relatives, that I know of. We don’t have any pregnant ones, either. It must be an emergency of some sort—hence why I’m headed to the Emergency Room.  
  
When I get there, I find both my parents waiting. They wave me over, distressed looks on their faces. Because of the amount of what-ifs that went through my head on my way here, I have come up with a decent guess for what this could have to do with. So I ask them, “Did something happen with Mike?”  
  
"You should know," Dad snaps. " _Did_  something happen with Mike, Vic?”  
  
"Um," I say. "Yes?"  
  
"Yes, something did happen," Dad says. "He went out into the city, and he got beat up. So now he’s here."  
  
"I—I didn’t know." This is just going to get me yelled at even more, but I don’t know how else to respond.  
  
"Right," Mom says. "You didn’t know. And why didn’t you know, Vic?"  
  
"Um, maybe because I can’t control every single thing my brother does?" I say. "Where is he, anyways?"  
  
So Mom escorts me down to Mike’s room, lecturing me the whole time. She doesn’t say anything that she hasn’t said before. I’ve practically memorized the whole speech:  _Young man, you need to learn to be more responsible because one day you’ll have kids of your own and it won’t be acceptable to treat them like this, so you’d better shape up. Are you listening to me, Victor? You can’t afford to keep screwing things up. This is all because of you, you know. Because you couldn’t complete the simple task of watching over your brother._  
  
Thanks for the support, Mom.  
  
"If it’s so simple, why don’t you do it?" I say, starting to get fed up with her shit. At this point, we’re standing in front of the door to Mike’s room.  
  
"Your father and I have more important business to take care of."  
  
"Well, what if I have more important business to take care of, too?"  
  
She looks at me like I’ve just expressed a desire to commit genocide. “Mike could’ve gotten killed,” she says. “He’s almost been killed multiple times because of your carelessness. This is a human life.”  
  
"Well, what business do you and Dad have that’s more important than a human life?"  
  
She sighs and shakes her head. “When you’re older, Vic, then you’ll understand.” Then she just turns and walks away, abandoning the conversation.  
  
I step inside the room, where Mike is lying on a hospital bed. “Fucking hypocrite,” I mutter to myself.  
  
"I know, right?" Mike says, startling me. "I heard you two talking out there. She does  _not_  make any sense  _at all_.”  
  
He doesn’t look that bad, actually. But he’s got a cast wrapped around one hand. “Do you know how long you’re staying here?”  
  
Mike shrugs. “Not long. I’ll be getting out later today or tomorrow, I think. Mom made a bigger deal out of it than it actually is.”  
  
I nod slowly. “How did this happen?”  
  
"Josh," Mike says. "From that gang. And a couple other members, too. Oli wasn’t there, though. Josh was super pissy, and I mean  _super pissy_. I don’t know what got into him.”  
  
I can feel a lump in my throat. “Oli’s dead.”  
  
“ _What_?”  
  
"Oli’s dead," I repeat, louder. "That’s what got into Josh."  
  
He shakes his head. “Fuck. How did that happen?”  
  
"Uh. Let’s just say Kellin has some really bad luck." I take a deep breath, thinking of Josh sending Mike to the hospital. "I’m gonna…go out of the room for a sec. I need to make a call."  
  
"Okay, you do that." Mike gives me a thumbs-up sign as I turn and walk back out.  
  
Then I call Kellin. “Hey,” I say. “So…something happened.”  
  
"I get the feeling that this is not a good something."  
  
"The feeling is correct."  
  
"Alright, so what happened? Does this have anything to do with Mike being MIA?"  
  
"It does, actually." I take a deep breath. "He’s in the hospital. Josh, uh…did some damage. And he was, and I quote, ‘super pissy’, according to Mike."  
  
"Son of a bitch." There’s a loud banging noise. I think he punched a wall. "I’m gonna get him."  
  
"No, you don’t have to—"  
  
"Yes, I do. I’m gonna teach him what happens when he messes with us so that he leaves you and me and Mike and whoever else alone."  
  
"Do you really think he’s gonna do that? Just give up once he’s had enough of your shit?"  
  
"Got any better ideas? He’s not just gonna stop on his own."  
  
"Touché. So what’ll you do, exactly?"  
  
"Uh. I’ll figure something out. I promise, Vic. If I can help it, this whole thing will end as quickly as it started. And I’m sorry I dragged you into it."


	7. Sticks, Stones, and Techno

**Chapter 6 - Kellin**  
  
“Justin,” I say, heading out into the living room. “I’m going somewhere.”  
  
Justin looks up from his laptop and the paper he’s bullshitting—I mean, _typing_ —for one of his classes. “Where?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"I do not feel comfortable divulging this information."  
  
"Fuck you. Okay, fine, but you’re not having anything that I’m making tonight. If you’re gonna go out, get your own food."  
  
"Harsh. You are the worst person to live with."  
  
Justin shoots me his middle finger as I walk out the door.  
  
When I step outside, I realize that I don’t really know where Josh is. I’m assuming he and the rest of the gang are at HQ, but in reality, they could be anywhere around here.  
  
But does that mean I’m gonna just let it go? Hell no.  
  
I’m honestly not a violent person—I swear. I don’t go out looking for blood—not without reason, anyway. I don’t start fights, but I’ll gladly engage in them if someone else starts something with me. Those kids in the bathroom earlier today? They started something with me, though I don’t think they knew it. Josh and the gang have definitely started something with me—and they  _do_  know it. So if I end up kicking at least a few of their asses, they’ll know they had it coming.  
  
Okay, so maybe I am just a little bit violent.  
  
But I wouldn’t be doing this if Josh hadn’t started going after Vic. That’s stepping over the line. Vic didn’t even do anything. I’m not letting him get sucked into this any more than he already is.  
  
I find myself getting angrier and angrier the longer I think about this. By the time I reach HQ, I’m so pissed and unstable that I have to stop and take a few minutes to calm myself down. I’ve come up with a plan. I’m not going to beat them up. I’m going to steal from them, like they tried to steal from us.  
  
Once I feel confident that I am no longer completely homicidal, I press my ear up to the front door. I don’t hear anything, so I push it open, stepping carefully inside. The main floor is empty, and I still can’t hear any voices from either upstairs or downstairs, so I make my way to the trapdoor and open it up. It blends right in with the rest of the floor; if it weren’t for the short handle sticking up, and the fact that I’ve seen the gang open it themselves, I wouldn’t even know it was there.  
  
I still can’t hear anyone, so I slide down the stairs, back into the basement. When I turn the corner, I make the mistake of glancing over to where I was yesterday. On the floor there’s a bloodstain, right where Oli got hit. By  _me_. By  _my_  knife.  
  
I keep walking.  
  
I turn and navigate my way through the widely arranged furniture until I reach one of the beds on the far side. I’ve been here before. I know the drill.  
  
I lift the mattress up, and sure enough, there they are—weapons and drugs. I pull the small black backpack that I brought off of my shoulder and set it down on the floor, opening it up and shoving everything inside. I know there’s more, though, so I search under every piece of furniture. Pills and powders, knives and guns, syringes for injections, matches and lighters—it’s all here. I know for a fact that they deal drugs. I wonder what would happen if they found they had no drugs left to deal? I mean, they’d probably get more from somewhere, but this will set them back, and so will the lack of weapons. Oli said they had extras—well, now those extras are gone.  
  
Once I’ve exhausted every possible hiding place, I turn my attention to one of the chairs at what looks like a dinner table, quickly rigging it so that it’ll collapse as soon as someone sits down on it. This part’s just for fun, though I probably won’t be able to actually see it happen.  
  
When I’m completely finished with my job here, I pull out a pen and a small slip of paper. Then I write:  
  
 _You really want to hurt the Fuentes brothers? Good luck with that.  
  
—you know who_  
  
I leave the note on the table. Now I’m done, so I turn and head up the stairs. When I reach the main floor, I make my way to the front door when I hear footsteps coming from outside. I don’t have enough time to go back downstairs, so I hide behind the door, and almost immediately after, it opens. Josh steps inside.  
  
As soon as I see him, all my anger comes back. Without thinking, I walk up behind him, and the second he spins around, I punch him.  
  
Then I turn back around and sprint for the door, not allowing myself to even see what damage I’ve done—though, judging by the loud crack I heard when my fist hit his face, it’s probably not too hard to guess. Luckily, Josh is alone, so I don’t have anyone else chasing after me. I run back the way I came until I’m absolutely sure he hasn’t followed me. “Okay,” I say to myself, turning into an alley where I can stop to catch my breath. “That’s good.”  
  
After a few seconds of panting, I feel someone unexpectedly tap me on the shoulder. “Hey.”  
  
I jump, and when I realize that the person is Jesse, I take a few steps back. “Wow,” I say, trying to hide my surprise. “Twice in one day. I must be  _so_ irresistible.”  
  
"Look, Kellin," he says, getting straight to the point. "I don’t want to hurt you. Really. I just—"  
  
"Oh, yeah,  _that’s_  why you reopened the cut on the side of my head,” I interrupt. I’m not in the mood for his bullshit.  
  
"Come on, you know I didn’t mean it."  
  
Unfortunately for me, he’s right. I know he didn’t mean a single punch, and neither did I. The fight, if you could even call it that, was short-lived and insignificant. I didn’t scare him, and he didn’t scare me. It was nothing like other fights I’ve been in. It was nothing like what happened yesterday.  
  
"Why are you even here, Jesse?" I ask. "And don’t give me bullshit."  
  
"I’m here because I realized I was wrong."  
  
"Wrong about what?" It’s a bit of a dumb question. I have a few guesses.  
  
"Wrong about…you. About  _us_ , Kellin. Remember us?”  
  
I shake my head, biting my lip. “I try not to. There is no us, Jesse. Maybe there was once,  _maybe_ , but there isn’t now. Have I ever told you what a hypocrite you are? You told me you couldn’t date me because I wasn’t good for you, like I’d poison your mind or something because maybe I get high a little too often or drink a little too much. And then you went off, and where did you go? To a gang. Where you deal drugs.”  
  
"Look, I  _know_ , Kellin,” Jesse snaps. “That’s why I came back. Because I realized I was being a hypocrite. And I wanted a fresh start.” He tilts his head slightly. “You still doing ‘em?”  
  
"What, drugs?" I smile sardonically. "Yep. You’ll be glad to know, though, that I’m trying to stop. And I didn’t do ‘em last night, either. I drank instead."  
  
Jesse just looks at me. He’s always been straight-edge, and I guess being in the gang hasn’t changed that. There  _is_  a difference between dealing drugs and doing them, after all.  
  
"Don’t look at me like that, Jesse," I say. "Like I’m a lost puppy or something. Like you need to protect me. I don’t need to be protected from anything. In fact, now I have people I need to protect.”  
  
"You need to be protected from Josh," Jesse points out.  
  
"I can deal with Josh. Vic can’t." The name slips out before I can stop it.  
  
Jesse’s facial expression changes. His eyes narrow. “Since when are you and Vic so close?”  
  
"Since before I even met you," I reply. In that moment, a thought occurs to me. "Are you sure you just  _happened_  to realize how hypocritical you were being  _today_? Are you  _sure_  it doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that I kissed Vic yesterday?”  
  
He doesn’t say anything.  _Bingo._  I take a step forward. I’ve got him now.  
  
"Are you sure you really want me back?" I continue. "Are you sure it’s not just that you don’t want to see me with someone else?"  
  
"You deserve better."  
  
I raise my eyebrows at him. “Better? Better than what? Better than Vic?”  
  
"You deserve someone with…experience. Someone who can fight. Vic can’t give you that. You said it yourself."  
  
"Well, maybe I don’t  _want_  that!” I say. “Maybe I want someone to protect. Maybe I just like Vic. Isn’t that for me to decide?”  
  
With that, I  _do_  decide something: I decide that I’m done with this conversation. I push past Jesse, out of the alley, and surprisingly, he doesn’t stop me. He just lets me storm away, which, I’ll admit, earns him a few brownie points back in my book. I don’t turn around, though. I just keep walking away.  
  
When I’m close to the apartment, I pull my phone out and text Vic:  
  
 _The deed is done._  
  
After a minute or two, I get a reply:  
  
 _Kellin, I’ve realized something._  
  
Uh.  
  
I quickly text back:  
  
 _What?_  
  
He says:  
  
 _We aren’t meant to be._  
  
Wait, what?  
  
I say:  
  
 _What’s that supposed to mean?_  
  
Dumb question. I know what it’s supposed to mean.  
  
Vic says:  
  
 _It means I want you to leave me alone._  
  
I let out an involuntary gasp, which makes me feel sensitive, which makes me mad. I can’t be sensitive. And Vic can’t mean it.  
  
Another text pops up:  
  
 _This might sound harsh, but I just can’t do it anymore. I’m not gay. I don’t like you that way. Just stop talking to me._  
  
He can’t mean it. He can’t mean it.  
  
And then, almost as if it’s an afterthought, he adds:  
  
 _Sorry._  
  
He. Can’t. Mean. It.  
  
A guy walking past me turns and asks, “Breakup text?”  
  
Am I that obvious?  
  
"I…I think so," I say hoarsely.  
  
The guy nods in sympathy before continuing on his way. “Those are the worst. You’ll find someone better, though.”  
  
But I don’t want someone better. I want Vic.  
  
I put my phone back in my pocket, forcing the conversation out of my mind as I turn around and make my way down the sidewalk to the club. He always comes back, though, like his name is tattooed into my brain.  _Vic. Vic. Vic._  
  
The club’s loud music drowns out those thoughts. Never in my life have I been so thankful for obnoxious techno.  
  
Tracy is working again tonight. “Kellin!” she says. “What can I get you this time?”  
  
I shake my head, putting on my fake smile, getting into my smooth act. “Nothing.” I pull the ecstasy out of my pocket. “I heard E’s better by itself. I’d say I agree.”  
  
(Well, so much for trying to stop.)  
  
 _Who needs Vic?_  I think, trying to convince myself. I know I don’t.  _These pills are better friends anyways._


	8. Nothing Will Bring Us Down

**Chapter 7 - Vic**  
  
My phone has been stolen.  
  
I didn’t think when I set it down on one of the side tables in the waiting room. I couldn’t have been gone more than thirty seconds, but when I came back—I’d gone to find my parents, who had seemingly abandoned me—it was gone.  
  
I have a theory about who took it, though. Right after I visited Mike and called Kellin, I noticed that a guy from school was at the hospital, too. I don’t know his name, but I do know his face, and I know he was one of many people who gave me a hard time today. I wouldn’t put it past anyone to take it, just to mess with me. I knew he was in the waiting room, too, at the time that I set my phone down. I just didn’t think about it. I forgot that I wasn’t at home and couldn’t just leave it wherever I wanted to.  
  
By the time I came up with this theory, the guy was gone. I asked a few people in the room where he’d gone, and they told me which hallway he went down. I went the same way, keeping an eye out, but I didn’t see anything until I ended up in a lobby. I peered outside, and there he was, making his way through the parking lot. I walked quickly, though not so quickly that I’d make a scene.  
  
The parking lot was huge, but this guy got lucky—his car was right there, a few feet away from him. I sped up until I was flat-out running, but the guy must’ve spotted me, judging by the way he floored it out of there like the world was ending. I tried to chase after the car, but a few seconds later, I gave up, knowing that it was a lost cause.  
  
With my luck, that guy probably wasn’t even the one who stole my phone.  
  
Afterward, I went back inside, where my parents told me they were leaving and that I could stay longer if I wanted to. I’m still surprised they aren’t sleeping over there.  
  
So now I’m playing my guitar in my room and blatantly ignoring the pile of homework I should probably be doing. With every passing minute, I worry about Kellin more and more. What did he do about Josh? Did he get hurt? Did he try to call or text me? And if so, did that guy—or whoever stole my phone—answer him?  
  
Finally, I get up and grab the house phone, trying to dial Kellin’s new number from memory. I’m almost certain that I got it wrong, but then I hear his voice on the other end.  
  
I sigh in relief, about to reply, when I realize what he’s saying: “Welcome to my voice mailbox. If you’re listening to this, it means one of two things: One, I’m blasting my eardrums out and don’t know that my phone is ringing. Two, I’m ignoring you on purpose. See if you can figure out which one it is.” Then there’s a beep—I guess I’m supposed to leave a message.  
  
Dammit.  
  
"Hey, Kellin, it’s Vic," I say quickly. "Call me on this number as soon as you can, alright? I want to know what happened. Bye."  
  
After I hang up, I wonder if I’m being too clingy. He’s not that social anyways, except for with his friends. He needs his space, right?  
  
This leads to me pacing back and forth in my room, waiting for a call that never comes. I find I can’t focus on my homework because I’m too busy thinking about all the possibilities. What if Kellin made a mistake going after Josh? What if Josh killed him or something?  
  
Later in the evening, my parents go back to the hospital to pick up Mike, who’s being let out tonight instead of tomorrow. “Be more on your guard next time,” Mom tells me when they get back.  
  
I nod absently, still lost in thoughts of Kellin, still so paranoid I can barely speak. She doesn’t even notice.  
  
That’s kind of okay, though. I don’t really want anyone to notice, not even Kellin. I mean, I do, but at the same time I don’t. I don’t really like feeling lonely, but I also don’t want to risk letting someone in. I’ve already slipped up and started caring about Kellin—I made that mistake a long time ago—and I guess this is the result.  
  
I close my bedroom door, crawling onto my bed, burying my face in my pillow, and sighing. I’ll be paranoid by myself.  
  
—  
  
The next day, Kellin ignores me. That’s one of the many possibilities my panicked mind entertained last night—he doesn’t know the house phone number, so he must’ve been blasting his eardrums out when I called, but he could’ve been ignoring me after he heard my voicemail. I can’t come up with a logical reason as to why, but no matter how many times I call his name, he doesn’t even turn my way.  
  
At least he’s not dead.  
  
Before first period, I talk to Mike, planning to ask him about his thoughts on the situation. But he’s distracted, telling me about a bunch of other different things, so I let him be. I don’t want to dump all my problems on him anyways.  
  
But this is killing me. So right before second period, I grab his hand and drag him into a nearby supply closet. “Whoa!” Kellin says, trying to get away, but it’s too late. I’ve got the element of surprise on my side—again. Maybe I  _will_  keep getting lucky like this.  
  
As soon as the door shuts, I flick the light on and get straight to business. “Why are you ignoring me?”  
  
Kellin just stares at me for a few seconds. “Isn’t that what you  _told_  me to do?” he says finally, his voice filled with scorn.  
  
“ _What_?”  
  
Kellin shakes his head, taking a step toward me. He looks angry, maybe even betrayed. “Stop sending me mixed messages, Vic. Last night you practically broke up with me over texts, if we were even dating. And then you sent me a voicemail from a different number telling me to call you and tell you what happened. What the hell? If you hate me, don’t stick around.”  
  
 _I am so fucking confused._  “Wait, wait, back it up,” I say, holding my hands up. “What did I say over texts?”  
  
He laughs bitterly. “Well, you told me to leave you alone and stop talking to you. And that’s exactly what I’ve been doing.”  
  
 _Oh, shit._  “When did I say that?”  
  
"Last night. Can’t believe you forgot about me already."  
  
"No, no, specifically. Like, the time. Was it sometime after five?"  
  
He shrugs, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe. Probably.”  
  
"What about 4:30?"  
  
He nods. “Oh, yeah, definitely after 4:30. Why does it even matter?”  
  
"Kellin, my phone got stolen yesterday."  
  
His eyes widen. “You can’t be serious.”  
  
I nod grimly. “I’m completely serious. And I think I have an idea of who stole it, too. It’s someone in this school. I don’t know his name.”  
  
Kellin seems to be putting everything together, and he turns to the nearest wall, banging his head against it. “God, I’m an  _idiot_. Why didn’t I think of that?”  
  
"Don’t hurt yourself," I say. He bangs his head a second time.  
  
"So  _that’s_  why you called me from a different number,” he says. “Why you even called me at all. Why you’re still talking to me.”  
  
I nod again. “I swear I never said any of that, whatever ‘I’ said over texts.” I put “I” in air quotes. “They were pretty convincing, then?”  
  
"Well, after the initial denial, yeah, I believed it. But, I mean, you’re the compulsive truther, right?" He smiles a little.  
  
I smile back. “Honest Abe. That’s me.”  
  
He steps forward suddenly, cupping his hand under my chin and kissing me softly. When he pulls away, he says, “Stupid me. Thought I’d never get to do that again.”  
  
I kiss him back. “You can do that whenever you want.”  
  
We hang out there for the rest of the period, since it’s already started. When the bell finally rings, Kellin steps out of the closet and says, “Tell me if you see the guy you think stole your phone.”  
  
That doesn’t take long. We’re both walking down the hallway, about to split and go in two different directions, when I see the guy getting something out of his locker. I tap Kellin on the shoulder and point. “That’s him.”  
  
And there, resting on the top shelf of the locker, is my phone.  
  
"Hey!" Kellin calls, in the direction of the guy, who has just closed his locker. The guy looks up, and when he realizes that Kellin is talking to him, and that we’re walking right over to him, I see an oh-shit-I’m-fucked look cross his face, before he replaces it with one of indifference.  
  
Kellin leans against the lockers, facing the guy. “Give Vic his phone.”  
  
"I don’t know what you’re talking about," the guy says bluntly.  
  
Kellin takes a step closer. “Give. Vic. His. Phone.”  
  
For a moment, they just look at each other, a staring contest. Kellin folds his arms across his chest. “I could wait all day, Jeremy.”  
  
The guy—Jeremy—is a bit bigger than Kellin, but Kellin scares people, so after a few more stubborn seconds, Jeremy nods and reopens his locker, grabbing my phone and handing it to me. “What are you gonna do now?” he asks Kellin.  
  
"What are we gonna do?" Kellin shrugs. "We’re gonna take the phone and walk away. We’ll forget about the fact that you tried to break us up and impersonate Vic. We’ll forget all this. For now. But if you try to fuck with us again…well, we’ll see what happens then."  
  
Then we both turn around and walk away.  
  
"That was Jeremy McKinnon," Kellin explains. "One of the few kids with the balls to stand up to me. And anyone else, for that matter. He probably got a kick out of impersonating you, but I don’t think even he would want to see me get mad."  
  
"It’s amazing," I say, "how much kids are scared of you. What’d you do to them?"  
  
I meant that last part to be a sort of joke, but Kellin whips around to face me, and for a moment, he looks alarmed. “Uh, nothing,” he says, twirling his hair, regaining composure just as quickly as he lost it. “I don’t know why they’re so scared of me.”  
  
But as we turn in our opposite directions, I know I hit a weak spot. He’s lying. These kids aren’t just scared of him because of his looks. They’ve got another reason.  
  
Now two problems are gone—my stolen phone and Kellin ignoring me. (Two birds with one stone, as they say.) This, of course, leaves room in my mind for me to worry about other things. I keep going back to the short conversation I just had, the look on Kellin’s face, the way his voice sounded, the fact that he twirled his hair when he answered me. He did something to earn this reputation.  
  
I want to ask him about it, but I can tell it makes him uncomfortable, so I back off. I mean, it’s none of my business anyways.  
  
That doesn’t stop me from wondering, though.  
  
—  
  
While we’re driving home, Mike pulls out a notebook and starts drawing something new. I already know he’s not going to finish it, whatever it is.  
  
"What about your other drawings?" I point out.  
  
"This one’s better," Mike says, as if it should be obvious. I decide to take his word for it.  
  
After a few seconds of silence, I say, “Hey. What do you know about Kellin?”  
  
I regret the words immediately—isn’t this kind of rude?—but it’s too late to take them back.  
  
Mike looks up. “Pretty Boy? Um…well, I know he’s madly in love with you. I know he was at our house last night when he wasn’t supposed to be. I don’t know this one for sure, but from what I’ve seen, I’m going to assume he’s a pretty good kisser. But you already know all this stuff. Uh, let’s see. I know he did something to make everybody around here scared of him, though I don’t know what it was.”  
  
"Okay," I say. "That’s all I needed to hear. Thanks."  
  
So it seems none of Mike’s friends have ever told him the story. I should just shut up and stop thinking about it—again, it’s not my business. But that’s easier said than done.  
  
Shortly after I get home, Kellin calls me, asking if I want to go out again. “Somewhere safer,” he says. “I promise.”  
  
"Yeah, I’d like that," I reply, smiling, though he can’t see it. "I want to see what it’s like to go on a date with you that doesn’t end with you pulling your knife out."  
  
"Yeah, me too," Kellin says, sounding bitter. "We could stay on the more civilized side of the city. Or we could go away from it altogether."  
  
"I kind of like the city," I say. "The civilized side, at least. But I also kind of want to get away from it for a little bit."  
  
"Okay, I’ll figure something out for us. I’ll pick you up at six."  
  
Only after we hang up does it occur to me that my parents will not be happy with me going out without Mike again, especially since yesterday he ended up in the hospital because of me.  
  
 _It’s not all your fault, though,_  I tell myself.  _He didn’t even sneak out or anything while you were gone with Kellin. He was watching TV when you got back. It was after you went to sleep. You can’t really control someone when you’re asleep._  
  
This is the logic I use when six rolls around and my mother, again, spots Kellin’s car in our driveway. The woman has eyes like a hawk. And she’s not budging.  
  
After about five minutes of arguing with her, I turn away, pull my phone out, and send a message to Kellin:  
  
 _Apparently my mom isn’t having any of my shit. I need backup. Make her remember how angelic you are. You might want to lose the jacket._  
  
I can’t help but scroll up a little. Sure enough, on my side of the conversation, there are some pretty rude messages. I delete them.  
  
Kellin’s response to my SOS call is:  
  
 _If I lose the jacket, she sees the tats. Pick your poison._  
  
Oh, yeah.  
  
So I say:  
  
 _The jacket._  
  
A few seconds later, there’s a soft knock on the front door. “Come in!” I yell, and Kellin slowly opens it, giving us a little wave.  
  
"Hey, Vic," he says, taking a few steps forward. "So, are you coming, or what?" He points over his shoulder. Then he looks at Mom. "Oh—am I interrupting something?" As if he doesn’t already know.  
  
I try not to laugh.  
  
"Oh, hey, Kellin," Mom says, smiling at him. "Haven’t seen you in a while. How’ve you been?"  
  
"Uh…pretty good," Kellin says slowly, clearly unprepared for small talk.  
  
"How have your parents been?" She’s stalling, waiting for just the right moment to tell him that our plans are canceled.  
  
Kellin starts to twirl his hair at that question. It’s just a simple one, and it doesn’t mean anything, but he still seems a bit panicked when he says, “Oh, they’ve been…they’ve been great.”  
  
"I see you want to take Vic somewhere again tonight." Ah, here it comes. The letdown.  
  
"Yeah," Kellin says with more conviction, nodding. "If that’s alright with you."  
  
Unfortunately, being polite won’t win her over. I can see that now. It’s not about the possibility of Kellin being a bad influence on me—it’s not even about me at all. It never is.  
  
 _Damn it, Vic,_  my conscience says.  _Selfish bastard._  
  
Thankfully, Mom interrupts it before it can criticize me even more. “Well, see, here’s the thing,” she says gently. I suppress a groan. “Vic needs to stay home tonight, to watch over someone else.”  
  
"No, I don’t," I say firmly, surprising even myself. But I’m done listening to this shit. "I’m going out, Mom. I promise I’ll be back by ten. Definitely by ten. I’ve got a life, too, and I’m gonna go live it. With Kellin." For a few seconds, Mom just stares at me. I add, "Mike probably won’t be doing all that much with his injuries anyways."  
  
That pushes her over. “Fine,” she says. “Go. But if anything happens to him while you’re gone—”  
  
"It’s my fault," I finish. "I’m aware of that. Bye." I turn around, and Kellin leads me out the door.  
  
When we hop into the car, he says, “ _That_  was uncomfortable.”  
  
"Tell me about it." Changing the subject, I ask, "Where are we going?"  
  
"That park where everyone always seems to hang out. Well, everyone who isn’t in a gang. It seemed tame. And romantic." He winks (and pulls it off surprisingly well).  
  
"Fantastic," I say. "I have to say, I like your romantic side. All you have to do is put a rose between your teeth and tango with me."  
  
"I would  _absolutely_  tango with you.”  
  
There are a few people at the park, but not too many. Maybe there were more earlier, but at this point in the day, everyone’s probably going home and eating dinner. “Oh, shit,” I say, suddenly remembering. “I didn’t eat dinner.”  
  
"Oh, yeah," Kellin says. "I didn’t, either. Maybe we can go to a restaurant or something after this. Or, if you’re starving, we can go now."  
  
"Nah, I’m not starving," I say, heading over to one of the playgrounds (there are three) and sitting down in a swing. Kellin follows my lead. "I feel like I shouldn’t be doing this," I say quietly, noting the weird looks a couple mothers are giving us from a distance. "Parents will think we’re after their children. It’s just not something you do.”  
  
"What, sit on a swing when you’re a teenager?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"All the more reason to do it. Challenge society." He reaches over and grabs my hand, linking his fingers with mine. "Look at us. We’re challenging it some more. Two guys,  _holding hands in public. In front of children. Corrupting their minds with our gay_.”  
  
The position is kind of awkward, but we keep it anyways. I smile. “I like challenging society.”  
  
"That’s the spirit. Hey, did I ever tell you the SOS code word that I use with Justin and Jack and Gabe?"  
  
"No," I say. "What is it?"  
  
He lowers his voice. “It’s ‘red cup’. Whenever one of us is in trouble, we use that code word, so the other people know.”  
  
"Red cup?" I repeat.  
  
"Yeah, like a red Solo cup. Now you know."  
  
"I feel special." I really do, actually. I feel like I’ve been entrusted with something sacred. I feel like I’m important enough to be entrusted with it.  
  
My gaze drifts over the rest of the park when I see something—someone—familiar. He’s sitting on a bench with a few other kids, maybe three or four, either on the bench with him or standing around it. They’re all teenagers, and they’re all smoking something. I’m guessing it’s weed.  
  
"Well, shit," I say in astonishment.  
  
"What?" Kellin says. "What is it?"  
  
I point at the group of kids. “Look who’s with them.”  
  
Kellin sees him almost immediately. “Well, then,” he says slowly. “I didn’t know your brother smoked weed.”  
  
I shake my head. “Neither did I.”  
  
"Or that he hung out with burnouts like that," he adds, before smacking himself on the forehead. "Oh, who am I kidding? I know a few of them, and I’m just as bad. Maybe it runs in the family. The Fuentes kids are bound to make friends with the druggies."  
  
"You’re not a druggie," I tell him. It’s the truth. I’ve never thought of him that way, at least.  
  
Kellin looks like he’s about to say something, but then someone grabs me from behind, flipping me off of the swing. “Hey, fag,” the guy says casually. He kicks me in the face.  
  
In an instant, Kellin is on his feet, tackling the guy to the ground. Dizzy, I push myself up and back away. I want to help, but Kellin seems to have the situation at least slightly under control. Plus, me trying to help resulted in Oli dying. I don’t want that happening again.  
  
"I’ve got a gun," Kellin hisses. "And the only reason I don’t have it out right now is because there are too many witnesses. I’ve been saying this to too many people: You fuck with Vic, you fuck with me. Understand?"  
  
The guy nods quickly, and Kellin climbs off of him. As soon as he’s free, the guy runs away.  
  
I turn to Kellin in shock as he leans against the swing set. “A  _gun_?”  
  
He nods grimly, lifting his shirt up. Sure enough, there it is. I wonder if he’s ever had to use it before.  
  
"Do you always have that with you?" I ask.  
  
He shakes his head. “No. Normally it’s just the knife. But today…even though we were going somewhere I thought would be safe…you never know. That guy that just attacked you is proof.” After a moment of silence, he says, “Maybe we could go to that restaurant now.”  
  
"A cliché, fancy French restaurant?" I guess, in an attempt to lighten the mood.  
  
I can tell Kellin is shaken—even though the attack was short and mostly unnoticed—but he smiles anyways. “I’ll see what I can do.”  
  
I glance back at Mike and his group of friends. I don’t think he saw me. I kind of want to go over there and talk to him, but I don’t know what I’d say, so I follow Kellin out into the parking lot.  
  
I can’t stop staring at him as we drive away. He’s trying to make small talk, trying to act like nothing’s wrong. “Kellin,” I say abruptly, cutting him off in the middle of a sentence. “Pull over somewhere private.”  
  
He raises his eyebrows slightly at me before shrugging, pulling into an alley, and stopping. “Okay. We’re somewhere pri—”  
  
I lean over and kiss him before he can finish. He seems glad for the distraction and moves closer, biting my lip slightly. I can’t help it—I let out a small moan, and then I feel Kellin’s lips smiling against mine.  
  
"That’s what I like to hear," he breathes, pulling away.  
  
"Kellin," I say suddenly. "You didn’t fuck up."  
  
He narrows his eyes, confused. “What?”  
  
"You didn’t fuck up," I repeat, words coming faster. "You didn’t fuck up with me. Not with the knife or the gun or the gang or Oli—none of it scared me away from you or anything like that. I don’t care how much danger you get into. It doesn’t change anything. I need you to know that."  
  
Kellin stares at me for a few seconds. Then he says, “You’re really something, Vic.”  
  
I give him a little smile. “Hey. I’ve been meaning to ask—are we officially, you know, like…dating?”  
  
"If you want us to be," he says, smiling back.  
  
"I do," I say.  
  
He leans in close to me, so close I can feel his breathing on my face, but in a nice way. “Then we are,” he whispers, and he closes the rest of the distance.


	9. Stay the Night

**Chapter 8 - Kellin**  
  
The rest of the date goes smoothly. I drop Vic off at nine and head back to the apartment. I’m only there for about fifteen minutes, smoking out my bedroom window, when somebody calls me. I groan, not wanting to be brought out of my own little world and back into reality, but then I realize that Vic is the one who’s calling. (This is when I decide that reality isn’t so bad if it includes him.)  
  
I answer my phone before even giving myself time to wonder why Vic is calling me when he just saw me half an hour ago. “Hello?”  
  
"Kellin," Vic says, his voice hitched and uneven. "Kellin, I—my parents—Mike—I just—I don’t—"  
  
"Whoa, calm down," I interrupt, putting out my cigarette and standing up. "Calm down. What happened?"  
  
"I—it’s nothing, it’s just—"  
  
"It doesn’t sound like nothing." It sounds like he’s trying not to cry.  
  
"I just—I went inside, and my parents, both of them, they fucking—fucking exploded on me. They figured out that Mike was gone and started yelling at me, and then Mike came back and they—they knew he was high. They’ve been trying so fucking hard to protect him and now they see him sneaking out and doing drugs and all that shit and they blame it on  _me_. They blame _me_  for  _his_  actions. And I’m not allowed to—to see you anymore, either.”  
  
"Fuck that!" I yell, automatically kicking the wall. "Fuck all of that! Don’t you fucking dare listen to all that bullshit, Vic. None of what Mike does is your fault. Parents don’t always know best. Okay? Remember that."  
  
"Is that why you don’t live with yours anymore?" Vic asks, sounding noticeably calmer.  
  
At the thought of my parents, a lump forms in my throat. My hand automatically reaches for my hair, fingers twirling erratically. “It—it wasn’t really a choice,” I say, thinking that maybe I should just tell him and get it over with. There’s no reason to keep it a secret.  
  
So I add, “I got kicked out.”  
  
After a moment of silence, Vic breathes, “Holy shit.”  
  
I lie down on my bed, first on my back before switching to my side. “Yeah.”  
  
"Kicked  _out_?” Vic repeats. “How did it happen?”  
  
I close my eyes. “It happened right after I told them I was gay. But that wasn’t the only reason—it was just the last straw. It was like I could feel it every time I did something wrong. I could feel their disapproval. I remember them really caring about me when I was little, but as I got older and started doing more things that they didn’t like…I knew that those feelings about me were going away.”  
  
"That’s horrible," Vic says. "What other things did you do?"  
  
"Started carrying weapons around," I reply casually, as if reading off a grocery list. "Started getting into fights. Started smoking. Started drinking underage. Started doing drugs. Started going out to clubs and shit. I can kind of understand why they were so pissy all the time. And then, on top of all that, I’m a flaming homo. So they finally realized that they’d failed in raising their only son—they didn’t even want me in the first place—and out to the curb I went. They couldn’t care less where I ended up from there; they just wanted me gone. Thank God for Justin."  
  
There isn’t any noise on the other end of the phone, and for a second I think that Vic must’ve hung up, but then I hear his voice: “That’s…I don’t know what to say.”  
  
"That’s okay. Don’t say anything."  
  
So he doesn’t, and I don’t, either. I just lie on my bed, listening to him breathe as he listens to me. After a few minutes of this, I ask, “Why aren’t you allowed to see me anymore?”  
  
Vic sighs. “My parents say you’re a distraction.”  
  
"A distraction?"  
  
"Yeah. From Mike."  
  
"Are you gonna listen to them?"  
  
"Probably not. I’m going to challenge society by intentionally disobeying my parents. I’m so hardcore."  
  
And with that, all the bad things wash away, because I can hear the smile back in his voice. I just wish it would stay this way.  
  
—  
  
I wake up to Justin dancing around my room and singing “Friday” by Rebecca Black. I groan and bury myself deeper under the covers, a failed attempt to get him to leave and let me sleep for a few more minutes.  
  
"Nope, not today." He rips said covers off of me, leaving me lying on my bed without a sufficient shield from the world.  
  
"NO!" I yell, reaching out blindly. "I WILL NOT BE EXPOSED!"  
  
“ _Friday, Friday_!” Justin sings. “ _Gotta get up on Friday_!”  
  
"Isn’t it ‘ _down_  on Friday’, dipshit?”  
  
"Yeah, but you’re getting up. So I changed it to up." He waves my digital clock in my face. " _Seven a.m. waking up in the morning_!”  
  
Unfortunately, this clock has betrayed me and states that it is, indeed, seven in the morning.  
  
"If you don’t get up, you don’t get to see Vic," Justin adds.  
  
"Fine."  
  
But when I get to school, I kind of wish Vic had stayed home. Or even moved away. Because where I see Vic, I see people taunting him, and it’s my fault. Most of them are cowards, making him feel like shit just because they know they can and then letting me off the hook because I scare them. I don’t even deserve to be in the safe zone. I killed somebody.  
  
For the most part, I hold myself back (though with much difficulty) from tearing these bullies to pieces. Keywords:  _for the most part_.  
  
But then I see the kid who made the joke about my shithole neighborhood the other day. I would ignore him, but he has chosen Vic as his new victim. And Vic is subject to more than just simple taunting.  
  
The guy has Vic pinned up against the lockers, and they both seem to be talking. I guess Vic says something the guy doesn’t like, because then the guy slaps him across the face.  
  
"Hey," I say, stepping forward. I don’t yell it, but I make sure the tone of my voice lets him know what I’m feeling. And what I’m feeling is anger.  
  
The guy takes Vic by the shirt, pulls him away, and then slams him right back into the lockers. Vic winces—I can hear a crack as his head hits the wall. The guy drops Vic, slapping him again for good measure, and turns to me. It doesn’t matter that anyone else would be quaking in their metaphorical boots right about now. This kid—I don’t know his real name, so I’m going to call him Brutus—isn’t afraid of me at all. If it was a match based solely on size, he could kick my ass right into next month in three seconds flat. We both know that.  
  
"Hey," he says, mimicking my voice. "What? You don’t like me messing with your little fag?"  
  
"No, actually, I don’t."  
  
He smirks and steps forward. Behind him, Vic is struggling to his feet, but Brutus just kicks him down again. Then, before I can react, he grabs me and slams me against the lockers, too. With his fist raised a few inches from my face, he asks, “What’re you going to do about it, shithole boy?”  
  
I match my facial expression with his. “This.” And I punch him.  
  
He punches me back, but I have speed on my side and duck right before he hits me—his fist barely brushes the top of my head, instead crashing into the lockers. I kick him where it counts, and his hold on me loosens, allowing me to slide right out from under him. He’s got size, but I’ve got strategy.  
  
Meanwhile, Vic has somewhat recovered and sneaks up behind Brutus, who doesn’t notice because he’s too busy gripping my arm and twisting it. “Hey there!” Vic says cheerfully, reaching forward and using his hands to cover Brutus’s face.  
  
Brutus yells, letting go of me so he can claw at Vic’s hands. Vic removes them, and Brutus turns around. “How have you been?” Vic says with a deceivingly innocent smile. Then his fist flies out, punching Brutus in the nose, and Vic turns and bolts in the other direction, taking my hand and dragging me down the hall.  
  
Once we’re safely inside the history classroom, Vic sits down at his desk, sighing. Instead of heading over to my own, I stand in front of his, resting my hands on it. “That,” I say breathlessly, “was impressive.”  
  
Vic smiles a little. “It’s funny. I’m completely helpless until I see you threatened.  _Then_  I start moving. Even that first night, on Monday—I probably wouldn’t have even gotten back to the car in time if I hadn’t seen Oli put that gun to your head.”  
  
"So if I want to bring out your inner badass, all I have to do is put myself into mortal peril."  
  
"Yeah, basically."  
  
The late bell rings, and I rush across the room to my seat right before Mr. Bitters walks in.  
  
About five minutes into his lecture, Vic texts me from across the room:  
  
_Are you going to the football game tonight?_  
  
Oh, yeah. The Friday night football games are starting up.  
  
I reply:  
  
_I wasn’t really planning on it, but we could go together just for the hell of it. If you can get past your parents._  
  
A few seconds later, he says:  
  
_That’s what I was about to ask you, actually. I think my parents will let me go if I bring Mike. He’ll probably want to go. We can meet up there. Only one problem: Everyone from school will be there too._  
  
I didn’t even think of that. I need to step up my game. It doesn’t matter how many times Vic successfully defends himself (or me)—I will still always be paranoid. Rightfully so, judging by how the day has been going.  
  
I text back:  
  
_And they’ll have more freedom, too, instead of just three-minute intervals between classes. But hopefully most of them will be too distracted by the game and everything else to waste their time fucking with you. Do you still want to go?_  
  
Vic says:  
  
_Yeah, I still want to go. I don’t care what they do to me. I’ll be with you. Bring on the danger, motherfuckers._  
  
I cover my mouth with my hand so I don’t smile. (According to Mr. Bitters, smiling is a sign of weakness and must be punished.) I don’t care that there will always be people like Brutus. For the first time, I don’t see myself as a somewhat-optimistic pessimist. I see myself, at least for the moment, as an actual optimist. And it feels really fucking good.  
  
—  
  
"I can’t believe you’re actually going to that football game," Justin says, his mouth full of food. I’m standing near the front door, about to drive over to the game. "You don’t even like football."  
  
I snort. “Well, look at you, Mr. Cool. Playing your video games and shit. How will you ever find someone to date if you don’t even go outside?”  
  
He sticks his tongue out. “Internet. Or I’ll date you once you and Vic break up.”  
  
"No, you won’t. And how do you know Vic and I will break up?"  
  
"Because in the end, either you break up or you get married, and I don’t see you two getting married. Then again, I can’t see you marrying anyone, Kellin. You kind of just fuck people and then leave. Your longest lasting relationship so far was with Jesse, and that only lasted for a month."  
  
I scowl. “I haven’t had a one-night stand in, like, three months. I’m sex-sober.”  
  
"Good. You better be." He shrugs. "I shouldn’t even be talking. My love life isn’t that much more impressive. Except for Skyrim." He nods at the TV screen. "Skyrim is more important than anyone else. What we have is special, Kellin. True love. I don’t even need to go outside.” He makes a swatting motion with one hand. “Go to your football game, you crazy lovebird. Give us some privacy.”  
  
I laugh and head out, but not before singing, “ _Justin and Skyrim, sitting in a tree…_ ”  
  
In the car, I start to think about what Justin said:  _You kind of just fuck people and then leave._  I know he was just using it to fuel our pointless argument, but…he has a point. A point he hasn’t brought up in a while now. A point I’ve tried to forget about.  
  
And when I get to the football field and find Vic leaning against the bleachers, staring off dreamily, I do forget. For a moment I don’t say anything to him; I just stare. He won’t be able to wear a tank top and shorts for too much longer, but he is today, along with a snapback. The setting sun is shining right on him, making him almost seem to glow, and all I can think right now is,  _How did I ever end up with someone like this? Holy fuck._  
  
Then he does notice me, and he smiles widely, the wind blowing his hair slightly. I smile back and walk towards him. “Can I assume your plan worked, then?” I ask.  
  
"Yep. Mike is here, but we’ve both gone off to do our own thing. Mike says that if I want him to, he’ll be covering for me a lot so I can go out and see you. He sort of, like, ships us."  
  
I start laughing. “He  _ships_  us?”  
  
Vic nods, grinning. “Despite everything, he really is a pretty awesome brother.”  
  
"That’s  _fantastic_. What’s our ship name? Kellic? Viclin?”  
  
"Mike calls us Kellic Quentes," Vic says.  
  
"Ooh, we get a last name, too. We’re special. We even have a business name because we’re so rich. We have the Quinn-Fuentes Task Force, and then we have this badass boat called Kellic Quentes that we use to fuck around in the ocean with."  
  
"Hell yes. That’s why we keep getting so much shit. People are jealous. Speaking of that, I figured out a way we can hang out together and stay away from everyone else." He points underneath the bleachers. "We go down there."  
  
"I like that. Other people might have the same idea, though."  
  
"Yeah, they did, but over on the other side. That’s where they’re smoking their weed and shit. But over here, there’s nobody. I checked."  
  
He leads me underneath the bleachers. Sure enough, there’s no one here except us. “Vic,” I say, and he turns around. I think he knows what I’m planning to do, because when I pull him closer, he’s already leaning toward me. Our lips meet smoothly, like they’re (as cheesy as it sounds) two puzzle pieces meant to fit together.  
  
We start out slow, as if we have all the time in the world. My hands trail down his back, while he wraps his around my neck. Then I poke my tongue out against his lips, and he nods slightly, opening them for me and letting me do what I want. I press myself against him as we start to move faster, making him moan softly into my mouth.  
  
I’m about to push his shirt up when a familiar voice yells, “Hey, look!”  
  
Fuck.  
  
Vic and I quickly remove ourselves from each other, turning around in the direction of the voice. It’s Brutus, and he’s not alone—he’s got a few friends on both sides of him, including Jeremy. “Get a room, fags!” Brutus calls, heading toward us.  
  
Vic is frozen in his spot. I grab him by the hand and drag him out the way we came, like he did to me earlier today. We sprint for the exit, dodging crowds of people until we’re safely in the parking lot, making our way to Justin’s car. I sit down in the driver’s side as Vic takes shotgun.  
  
"Fucking hell," I say. "We weren’t there for more than ten minutes. Can’t we go  _any_ where without being attacked?”  
  
Vic shakes his head. “This is what it was like,” he says. “At our old school, after you left. But I was alone that time.” He reaches over and takes my hand. I squeeze it, staring out the window.  
  
"I want to kill him," I say, and in that moment I truly mean it. "I want to kill all of them."  
  
Vic squeezes back. “I know you do.”  
  
For a moment we just sit there like that. Then I say, “You might want to call Mike.”  
  
Vic nods, pulling out his phone. “I know. He doesn’t have his driver’s license, but I’m not staying here and waiting for him, so he’ll just have to take our car home and hope he doesn’t get caught.”  
  
While he calls his brother, I call Jack. “Hey,” he says. “What’s up? I thought you were at that football game.”  
  
"That plan has been forsaken for reasons I refuse to elaborate on," I reply. "Where are you?"  
  
"Gabe and I are at Black Rain. Are you thinking of joining us?"  
  
Black Rain is a club. I don’t go there often, which means that most people wouldn’t expect to find me there. “Uh, maybe,” I say. “But maybe not. I’ll see.”  
  
"Okay. Hey—Gabe wants to know if you and Vic have fucked yet."  
  
I smile to myself. “Tell him no and that he’s a pervert.”  
  
"Will do. Later, Kell."  
  
"Bye."  
  
When I turn back to Vic, he’s staring at me with one eyebrow raised, looking amused. “ _Who’s_  a pervert?”  
  
"Gabe," I say, starting the car up. "He wanted to know if you and I had fucked yet."  
  
"Does he ship us, too, then?"  
  
I pull out of the parking lot. “I think they all do. Hey, would you rather we go out to a club with them, or head back to my place, or something else completely? We’ve gotta do something at least until the game’s over, so you and Mike get back home at the same time.”  
  
"Uh. I like your place."  
  
"Then my place it is."  
  
After a few seconds, Vic turns to me. “How do you feel about your parents?”  
  
The question startles me so much that I nearly crash the car.  
  
"Sorry," Vic says quickly. "You don’t have to answer that."  
  
So I don’t, but only because I don’t want to lose it at the wheel. Instead I say, “Justin’s going to be mad when we interrupt his quality time with Skyrim.”  
  
Vic laughs. “He’ll just have to deal with it.”  
  
Sure enough, as soon as I walk through the door, Justin throws an unopened bag of chips at me. I think he intended for it to hit me, but I catch it with one hand and rip it open. “Thanks,” I tell him.  
  
"Fuck you," Justin says. "Why are you back so early, anyways? Didn’t I specifically tell you that Skyrim and I want to be  _alone_?”  
  
"Well, you’ll have to make some sacrifices," I tell him, as Vic and I start to eat the chips. "We’ll go back in my room again anyways."  
  
"Good. Hey, uh…Beau left us a little something. Don’t worry; I paid for it. It’s on your side table."  
  
"Uh…okay. Thanks." Then Vic and I head back to my bedroom, where Vic, after I close the door, asks the obvious question:  
  
"Who’s Beau?"  
  
I stand right in front of my side table so he can’t see what Beau left. I’ve already admitted that I do drugs, so I don’t know why it feels like such a big deal to explain, “He’s our dealer. Mine and Justin’s.”  
  
Vic raises his eyebrows and tries to peer over my shoulder. “What, like a drug dealer?”  
  
I nod, biting my lip, waiting for him to tell me that I’m crazy and stupid and horrible. But he doesn’t. Instead he says, “Just don’t get into any trouble.”  
  
_I’ve already gotten into a lot of trouble,_  I think, but I don’t say it.  
  
"I’ll be right back," Vic says, turning and walking out of the room.  
  
"Where are you going?" I call after him.  
  
"Bathroom," he replies, shutting the door behind him.  
  
Immediately, I spin around and grab an ecstasy pill. I’m about to pop it into my mouth when I hear his voice in my head:  _Just don’t get into any trouble._  I close my eyes for a few seconds before reopening them and dropping the pill.  _This is the first step,_  I tell myself.  _I’m going to make myself stop._  
  
Justin and I don’t do drugs as often as we used to. Six months ago, I was a mess, for several reasons including drugs. We sort of helped to pull each other through. Neither of us have completely stopped, but I’m hoping I won’t have to use Beau much longer.  
  
So I take the tablets and hide them in the drawer.  _Maybe I’ll quit smoking, too,_  I think, and that makes me laugh a little.  _One step at a time, Kellin. Don’t get your hopes up._  
  
Vic comes back not long after, and he finds me digging through a small pile of movies. They’re both mine and Justin’s, but we keep them in my room. There’s another TV in here, too. “I don’t know what to pick,” I say. “Help me out?”  
  
We end up watching one of Justin’s random action movies that I previously didn’t even know existed. We lie in my bed, pressed up close together in the dark. When we’re not making sarcastic comments about the movie, we’re practicing rituals of intimacy—not sexy intimacy, but sweet intimacy. This is something that I still haven’t had much experience with, but I can tell Vic hasn’t, either. He plays with my hands, my fingers, and my hair, but he does it cautiously, as if he’s afraid he’ll break me. That’s the difference between me and Vic: He is careful, and I am reckless.  
  
"Kellin," Vic whispers as the credits are rolling. "Can I be honest for a second here?"  
  
"Sure," I reply. "Take it away, Abe."  
  
Vic smiles, but then he returns to his serious expression. “Kellin, now that we’re dating, I seem to be living a contradictory existence.”  
  
"Contradictory how?" I ask, absentmindedly trailing my fingers up and down his arm.  
  
"Because on the one hand I really like this, and just being like this, and I just want to stay like this forever, but then I also just want to run away from you and hide."  
  
"Why?"  
  
He rests his head on my shoulder, sighing and closing his eyes. “Because I’m afraid. I’m afraid that I’ll fuck up and hurt you, or that I’ll just end up alone.” He bites his lip—I can actually see him regretting this conversation.  
  
"Hey," I say, tilting his head up. He opens his eyes, and I force him to meet mine. "Don’t be afraid, okay? No reason to be afraid."  
  
And just like that, we’re kissing, him still hesitating a little and me giving it all I’ve got. I pull away for a split second to repeat, “No reason to be afraid.” Then our lips return to their rightful positions, and Vic must get the message, because now he isn’t holding back. Our bodies press even closer together, and I grab ahold of both his wrists, pushing him down and climbing on top of him. He wraps his legs around me and arches his back slightly upward as I roughly grind against him. When I remove my lips from his, a small whine escapes his throat that I don’t think he even meant to let out.  
  
I take my hands away from his wrists and position them at his hips, right underneath his shirt, right above his shorts. My lips move on to attacking his neck, but this is where I get stuck, just like last time. Because this is a sensitive spot, and as I start biting the skin here, Vic’s breath hitches—he’s trying so damn hard not to make any noise. My left hand starts playing with the fabric of his shorts, and Vic moans, “Please.”  
  
Again, it’s his voice that snaps me out of it.  
  
I pull myself away, panic rising in my chest when I see that I’ve left a hickey. “I can’t,” I say shakily. I jump out of bed, headed for the door, and steal a glance over my shoulder. Vic is just sitting there, staring at me like a spooked animal. His fingers lightly touch his lips, the same way they did when I kissed him in the hallway on Tuesday. He looks like he wants to say something, but he can’t seem to find the words.  
  
I rush out of the bedroom to the bathroom, where I slam the door shut and shove my head under the icy water again. I’m hyperventilating and my hands are shaking more than my voice. I squeeze my eyes shut so I don’t have a chance at seeing myself in the mirror. I kind of want to punch it, but in the end I just shut the water off and sink to the floor, lying down on my side.  
  
I must be making a lot of noise, because a few seconds later I hear the door opening and Justin saying, “Kellin. What happened?”  
  
I grit my teeth and tear at my hair. Without opening my eyes, I say, “Keep. Me. Away. From. Him.”  
  
"Christ," Justin says. "That bad?"  
  
"I’m an animal, Justin. Make sure I can’t get back in there."  
  
I can hear him walk away, and then I hear his voice: “Hey, Vic. I’m gonna lock this door, alright?” Pause. “Because Kellin told me to.” Pause. “Well, that’s a question you’ll have to ask him. Later.”  
  
Then the bedroom door shuts, and Justin comes back into the bathroom. “I locked the bedroom door,” he says. “So you can’t get in until Vic unlocks it. If you want to, you can, uh, sleep in my bed or something—”  
  
"No. I’ll sleep right here."  
  
"You sure? That floor is uncomfortable as fuck."  
  
"That’s the point."  
  
Justin knows there’s no talking me out of it, so instead of trying, he just leaves me here. But before he closes the door and walks away, he says, “See, that’s your fatal flaw, Kellin: What you’re addicted to isn’t a substance of any kind. What you’re addicted to is self-punishment.”


	10. Warning Sign

**Chapter 9 - Vic**  
  
When I wake up, I notice a few key differences.  
  
The first thing I notice is that this mattress is not as soft as it usually is.  
  
The second thing I notice is that I can hear someone in the shower, singing “Eye of the Tiger”.  
  
The third thing I notice is that this person is Kellin, who isn’t supposed to be in my house.  
  
The fourth thing I notice is that this is not my house.  
  
_Shit shit shit shit shit._  
  
I was supposed to go back home with Mike when the game was over. But I slept over here instead. I completely fucking forgot. I’m not even allowed to be with Kellin anymore. Did Mike cover for me? Or am I going to come home to my parents screaming at me again? Fuck my life. Fuck everything.  
  
I rub my eyes and push myself up into a sitting position. When I get a better look at the bed I’m sleeping in, I remember something else.  
  
I remember me and Kellin, on this bed, Kellin kissing the fuck out of me and me trying not to show that I wanted him with everything in me. I remember him telling me not to be afraid…and then running away from me with nothing but unexplained fear in his eyes. I remember Justin coming in and locking the door “because Kellin told me to”. And it hurts.  
  
It hurts that Kellin has no problem kissing me until we reach a certain point, and then he seems to realize or decide something and breaks it off. It hurts that he, for whatever reason, doesn’t even want to be in the same room with me. It hurts that he told me not to be afraid, when there’s obviously something about me that terrifies him.  
  
I sigh and hop out of the bed, unlocking the door and heading out into the living room. I’ll talk to him after he gets out of the shower.  
  
Justin is sitting at the kitchen table, finishing up what looks like a pancake. He raises his free hand. “Hey. Vic. I want to talk to you about something.”  
  
This is only the second time I’ve ever heard him sound even remotely serious, so I know I should probably listen to what he has to say. (The first time was last night.) I sit down in a lounge chair, and a few seconds later, he joins me on the couch.  
  
"Okay, I’m game," I say. "What do you want to talk to me about?"  
  
Justin glances over his shoulder. Kellin is still in the shower, though now he has switched to “We Will Rock You”. “Kellin takes forever in the shower,” Justin says, “so I think we’re safe for at least another five minutes. I wanted to talk to you about, well, him.”  
  
"Oh no," I reply. "Is this going to be like one of those speeches the parents make to a guy when he starts dating their precious daughter?"  
  
Justin laughs a little. “Luckily, no. I just wanted to…warn you, I guess.”  
  
"Warn me?" I repeat. "About what? Kellin?"  
  
"Well…yeah. Basically." He shrugs, seeming almost apologetic. "I probably shouldn’t be doing this to him, talking to you about him behind his back, but after that stunt he pulled last night…I just kind of realized I should probably let you know at least a little bit about what you’re getting into, dating him. If he hasn’t already filled you in on a few things."  
  
"Yeah, do you think you could explain that stunt to me?" I ask, aware that he’s right—this probably  _is_  rude. “And what things?”  
  
"Well, I won’t go into detail—like I said last night, you’ll have to ask him about it yourself—but he’s a bit…erratic. And paranoid. When he first told me that he, y’know, felt this way, I thought he was just being melodramatic. Like, I didn’t realize it was such a big deal to him."  
  
"What’s ‘it’, exactly?" I interrupt. "You mentioned him feeling a certain way…like what way?"  
  
"Well, I was getting to that," Justin says, smiling wryly. Then he grows solemn again. "What you need to know about Kellin Quinn Bostwick is this: He is absolutely fucking terrified of himself, and from my personal experience, I’ve learned that hate often comes with fear. He’s impulsive—there’s no denying that—and he knows it. So he’ll do anything to keep himself under control, no matter how random or self-destructive it might seem."  
  
I nod slowly. I still don’t understand everything, but I think this is starting to make more sense. The fear I saw in him last night—if Justin’s right, that fear wasn’t of me, but of himself.  
  
"Another thing it would probably be good for you to know—Kellin has had a  _lot_  of sex. Like,  _a lot_.”  
  
I raise my eyebrows. “And about how much does ‘a lot’ mean?”  
  
"A  _lot_. Back where he used to live, he was known as the Whore. Capital W. But that’s all I’m gonna say.”  
  
"Hey, that reminds me—how do you two know each other? Like, I just assumed you met when he moved here, but…"  
  
Justin shakes his head. “We’ve been friends for a long time. We used to go to the same school, a different one, before I moved to this one. Then I guess Kellin moved to yours and met you, and then he came here. We kept in touch after I moved away, though, and met up a lot. He moved in with me in this apartment about a week after school let out for the summer. That was after his parents, uh…” He trails off.  
  
"Kicked him out?" I finish.  
  
Justin nods. “So he told you about that.”  
  
"Yeah," I say, clearing my throat. "So. Kellin used to be a whore.  _The_ Whore. Hasn’t fucked me yet, though.” I smile a little. Then, in a more serious tone, I add, “He seems kind of afraid to.”  
  
"That’s because he doesn’t want to, like, relapse. He doesn’t want to go back to being the Whore."  
  
The shower water shuts off.  
  
Justin stands up. “I probably said too much,” he says quietly. “Now pretend you’ve just been sitting there twiddling your thumbs.”  
  
"Will do."  
  
A few minutes later, Kellin comes out into the living room, whistling a random tune. He’s fully clothed this time. “What are we having, Chef Justin?”  
  
Justin sticks his tongue out, motioning to the cleared kitchen table. “Well,  _I_ just had pancakes. Vic missed them because he was sleeping, and you missed them because you were too busy with your watery one-man concert. Speaking of that, did Tracy ever ask you about Karaoke Night?”  
  
"Yes, and I’m not doing it."  
  
"Who’s Tracy?" I ask.  
  
"A friend of ours," Kellin says. "She’s a bartender at a club. And she wants me to sing something for their Karaoke Night."  
  
"Which is tonight," Justin adds.  
  
"I think you have a nice voice," I tell Kellin.  
  
He makes a face. “Well, if it were anyone else, I wouldn’t believe you. But you’re Abe.”  
  
"Exactly. I think you should go for it," I say. "If you want to, at least."  
  
"Vic can watch you," Justin suggests.  
  
After a moment of contemplation, Kellin says, “Well…I’ll think about it.”  
  
Justin pumps his fist in the air. “Yes! Success!”  
  
“ _Possible_  success,” Kellin corrects him.  
  
Even with what Justin told me, it’s still unusual for me to see Kellin insecure about anything. He’s always so confident and sure of himself. At least, that’s how he acts most of the time.  
  
"I’m gonna call Mike," I say, remembering the trouble I’m probably in with my parents. "Unless he came up with some genius excuse—which is possible—I’m in some deep shit."  
  
"Oh, fuck. Sorry," Kellin says, and he sounds like he really means it. "I should’ve driven you home."  
  
"No, it’s okay," I say as I wait for my brother to pick up. "I should’ve remembered."  
  
A few seconds later, Mike answers and wastes no time on introductions. “Vic, dude, do you have  _any_  idea how fucking lucky you got?”  
  
"Uh…no," I say slowly. "How lucky?"  
  
"Alright, so I was driving home yesterday after the game, and I’d come up with this great lie for you. This lie was so great, I swear, it’d make a double agent look like fucking Abe Lincoln."  
  
I bite my lip so I don’t laugh.  
  
"So I got home," Mike continues, "and I was expecting Mom and Dad to come and bombard me with questions about where you were, ‘cause God only knows what I was doing without you watching my every move. But they didn’t, and I thought that was really suspicious, and then I saw this note on the table. I thought that was suspicious, too, ‘cause when do they ever leave us notes? But I read it, and it turns out, their work—since they both work at the hospital—it was really short on people, so guess what? They both got fucking called in. And they won’t be back until around two this afternoon. I was gonna call you, but then I got distracted, and then I realized that you and Kellin were probably busy fucking, so I decided to leave you alone. I assume you slept over at his place or something?"  
  
"You assume correctly," I say, taking in the whole story. Mike’s right—I got so fucking lucky. I can’t count on that happening every time.  
  
Mike laughs. “How did his parents react to that?”  
  
I decide not to correct him with the truth. “Oh, they were perfectly fine with it. They love me.”  
  
"I’ll bet. I’m gonna go now, but just remember, you have to be back by two."  
  
"I’ll remember," I assure him. "Later, Mike."  
  
After I hang up, I turn to Kellin and Justin, who now seem to be arguing over whether or not pancakes are better than waffles. “Guys!” I say, and they both shut up and look at me. “Turns out I got lucky. I don’t have to be back until two—long story.”  
  
"Well, right now it’s only, like, ten," Justin says, glancing at the clock. "What is  _wrong_  with us, getting up so early on a Saturday?”  
  
Kellin bounces over to me. “Wanna go out before you have to leave? I’ve got a place I want to show you.”  
  
"Yeah, why not?"  
  
He grins. “Fantastic. I’m gonna go change my clothes.” Then he rushes back to his room.  
  
Justin raises his eyebrows. “This is a sacred place he’s taking you to,” he says. “Sacred to him, at least, though I’m not really sure why. Kellin doesn’t bring just anybody to it. He didn’t even get that far with Jesse. His, uh, ex.”  
  
I nod. “Yeah, I know who Jesse is.” I smile at the thought that, even after what happened last night, Kellin still considers me to be more than “just anybody”.  
  
"Your relationship is interesting," Justin says. "It got put on, like, a hiatus for three months. And then Kellin just kissed you, and that started the whole thing up again. But it’s not weird—I don’t think so, at least—that you’re so close when really you’ve only been ‘officially’ dating for, like, a week." He puts "officially" in air quotes.  
  
At that moment, Kellin pops back out with some car keys. “Alright,” he says, clapping his hands. “Victor, I am going to take your pretty little ass to a very special place.” He opens the apartment door, gesturing to the hallway. “The day is young. Let us be going now.”  
  
So I head out, and behind me, Kellin calls, “You and Skyrim can have privacy at least until two.” Then he shuts the door behind us. “Justin and Skyrim have true love, apparently.”  
  
"Well, that’s just beautiful," I say as we make our way down to the main floor and out into the parking lot. "Almost as beautiful as that luxurious hair of yours."  
  
Kellin unlocks the car, and we hop inside. “Are you kidding? Look at your gorgeous locks.”  
  
I snort. “Most people would say I need a haircut.”  
  
"Well, I’m not most people and I say it’s great just the way it is."  
  
When we’re safely out of the parking lot and driving down the street, he pulls out his phone and plugs it into the car, opening up his music. “We need a little something,” he says, rolling the window down and pressing “Shuffle”.  
  
Our conversation during the drive through the city mostly consists of me asking where we’re going and Kellin refusing to tell me. I notice that he’s taking me down some roads I’ve never gone on before, and I also notice that the city seems to gradually be getting less city-ish, but I don’t realize the whole extent until Kellin says to me, “This is something you don’t see every day when you live in the city.”  
  
I glance out the window to see what he means, and my breath catches. We’re driving through a field. There is nothing out here except for us and the bright green grass. We are driving through a real, honest-to-God  _field_.  
  
And even though fields aren’t particularly special or breathtaking to most people, at least under normal circumstances, I understand why Kellin likes it.  
  
"Now we can turn the volume up as loud as we want and not bother anybody," he says, turning up the volume just as the current song ends and a new one begins.  
  
I recognize it immediately: “MakeDamnSure” by Taking Back Sunday. Automatically, I hum the melody to myself as it plays, before switching to a soft singing. The lyrics start to remind me of Kellin, and I turn and look right at him when I say, “ _You are everything I want, ‘cause you are everything I’m not_.”  
  
Kellin smiles a little, briefly taking his eyes off the road to look back at me. “You have a nice voice, too.”  
  
I smile and glance away, my hair falling into my face. Kellin reaches over and brushes it back where it’s supposed to be. The way he stares at me makes me feel, for the first time in ages, like I am not just another person, but a person who is important. He stares at me in what looks like amazement, like I’m a rare gem or a magnificent creature. I’m not used to people staring at me like that, and on the one hand it kind of scares me. But it’s also kind of nice.  
  
"Eyes on the road, dumbass," I tease.  
  
"I don’t need to. It’s just a straight line that goes on forever," Kellin says, but he turns his attention back to the road anyway. "In fact, here’s a really good place to stop."  
  
This particular part of the field doesn’t seem much different from all the other parts we’ve driven by so far—I can’t even really tell what separates one “part” from the other—but I don’t question Kellin’s logic. I just follow him when he parks on the edge of the left side of the road (The  _left side_. Kellin, have you forgotten that we are in  _America_?) and hops out.  
  
"Don’t get me wrong. I love the city," he says, standing in the middle of the field and spreading his arms out as if he’s a bird or something. "But this? This is my favorite place. The city’s always so busy, and sometimes it’s nice to just get away from it all and be alone here." He takes his jacket off and tosses it to the ground, exposing a short-sleeved tee that shows off his tattoos. "Damn, it’s hot. Even with the breeze."  
  
"How many people know about this place?" I ask.  
  
He shrugs. “I don’t know. I never see anyone else out here, but there have to be other people who at least know this road exists. It’s, like, right here. I guess nobody really bothers to look for it.”  
  
"How far does the road go?" I turn and squint into the distance, but the road and grass just seem to run on forever until they fade into the horizon.  
  
Kellin shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve always just turned around at a certain point and driven back. I’ve never gone the whole distance. I’m going to, though, one day. I don’t care how long it takes. I’m gonna see where this goddamn road leads to.” He sits down on the grass, grabbing my hand, pulling me down with him, and tangling his fingers with mine.  
  
"I could come with you," I suggest. "We could do it together."  
  
Kellin smiles widely, like I’ve just thought up the greatest idea to ever be thought up. Maybe—to him, at least—I have. Trailing his fingers up and down my arm, he whispers, “I would love that.”  
  
And right now, with his entire expression—everything in his being—full of life and wonder and excitement, with a desire so simple and childlike, he does not look like someone dangerous. He does not look like someone who would carry a knife around constantly. He does not look like someone who would ever be nicknamed “the Whore”.  
  
"Justin told me that you’ve had a lot of sex," I blurt. I regret the words before they’ve even left my mouth—they kill his sweet, innocent mood in an instant, making me remember that Kellin is not innocent. The Abraham Lincoln part of me can be a real pain in the ass sometimes.  
  
"How much did he tell you?" Kellin asks.  
  
"Not much. Just that you’ve had a lot of sex and that some people called you the Whore."  
  
“ _Every_ body called me the Whore,” Kellin says. I can hear tightly-controlled frustration in his voice. “It was like I didn’t even have a fucking  _name_ anymore.  _That_  was my name.”  
  
"I’m sorry," I say quickly. "I shouldn’t have even brought it up—"  
  
"No. It’s okay." He sounds slightly calmer now. "Really. You shouldn’t have to be afraid to bring something up. Not around me, at least. It’s not gonna, like, make me hate you or anything." He pauses. Then, randomly, he says, "Truthfully, I’d say I feel…betrayed."  
  
"Betrayed about what?"  
  
"Yesterday you asked me how I felt about my parents, and I didn’t answer. Well, there’s your answer. I feel betrayed." Now the anger is back in his voice, with something else, too—hurt. "I mean, I always thought parents were supposed to look after their child and accept their child no matter what. Like, if you’re gonna be a parent, shouldn’t you be willing to always be a parent, even if your kid turns out to be a fuck-up? That’s the one thing I always thought I could count on when I was little. But no. Turns out, I don’t even have that anymore."  
  
Sighing, he lies down on his back, and I do, too, resting my head on his chest. His one hand plays with my hair. “Your locks are still gorgeous, Vic,” he says softly. He sounds like he’s drifting off, like he could fall asleep any minute. “I didn’t get much sleep last night. Justin was right—that floor is uncomfortable as fuck. Even this grass is more comfortable.”  
  
"Floor?" I repeat.  _Kellin slept on the floor?_  
  
"Yeah. I slept on the bathroom floor."  
  
"Why?" I ask, but it’s too late. He’s already gone, so I lie there and listen to his heart beat.  
  
—  
  
"I don’t have much money," Kellin says as we near the city, "so if we’re going to eat lunch out somewhere, it might just be McDonald’s or something."  
  
"I’ve got money," I say. "I’ll pay. But we’ll probably have to just make it fast food anyways, seeing as we overslept and I have to be home in half an hour."  
  
Yep, I ended up falling asleep, too, and now—look at that—it’s 1:30.  
  
"Sorry about that," Kellin says. "And you don’t have to pay. I’ll—"  
  
"I’m paying today," I interrupt as he parks at McDonald’s. "No exceptions."  
  
So we rush inside and each get a burger to go, and then we’re back in the car, Kellin driving slightly faster than usual.  
  
"It’s probably good that I’ll get there a little early," I say, talking mostly to myself. "In case my parents are early, too. Plus, then I have time to make it look like I didn’t just get home and was there all along."  
  
Kellin pulls into my driveway at 1:44. “Sixteen minutes,” he says, pecking me on the cheek. “I’ll see you later.”  
  
I hop out of the car. “Hopefully.”  
  
The front door is locked, and when I knock on it, nobody answers.  _Maybe Mike’s just asleep,_  I think as I unlock it myself.  _But he hardly sleeps at all when he’s like this. It’s the middle of the day. What are the chances that he’s just sleeping?_  
  
"Mike!" I call when I step inside and close the door behind me.  
  
Nobody responds.  
  
_Is he pulling a prank on me?_  I wonder as I head upstairs. I hope to find him in his room, taking a random nap or too focused on something else to answer me, but it’s empty.  
  
I sigh and call him.  
  
He picks up on the second ring. “Oh, hey, Vic!”  
  
"Mike, where are you?"  
  
"I’m with some friends. Where are you?"  
  
"I’m home. Do you know what time it is?"  
  
"Uh." In the background, I hear him asking someone what time it is. The person replies that it is 1:46. "Shit," Mike says.  
  
My heart starts beating faster. “Do you think you’ll be able to make it back in time?”  
  
"Uh."  
  
_Fuck._  “I’ll take that as a no.”  
  
"Vic, I’m sorry, I just lost track of—"  
  
I cut him off. “It’s okay. Listen, here’s what I’ll do.” A plan is forming in my mind. “You tell me where you’re at, and I’ll come pick you up. We might be late, but we can just say we were somewhere together and that we both lost track of time. Okay?”  
  
So he tells me where he’s at, and about twenty-five minutes later, I’m picking him up. This really shouldn’t have to be so difficult, but these are our parents I’m talking about.  
  
"Thanks, dude," Mike says as he slides into the passenger seat. "I owe you one. Seriously. I’ll have to pay you back with something."  
  
At that moment, my phone rings. “That’s probably Mom or Dad,” I say before answering it. “Hello?”  
  
Sure enough, it’s Dad. “Where are you? Your mother and I just got home, and you’re not here, and neither is Mike!”  
  
"Mike’s right here with me," I assure him, thankful that he doesn’t have a lie to check because it’s not a lie. "We went to see some friends. Like, the same friends, not different ones. We both just lost track of time. We’ll be home in, like, twenty minutes."  
  
"Alright," Dad says slowly before hanging up. The fact that I’m with Mike seems to have calmed him.  
  
On the drive back home, I remember something Justin said, about Kellin possibly participating in something called Karaoke Night, about Karaoke Night being tonight. “Hey, Mike,” I say. “I have an idea for how you could pay me back.”  
  
—  
  
Tonight, we are on a mission. The mission is this: To sneak out, have a great time, and then sneak back in.  
  
Mike’s way of paying me back is accompanying me to this club, so if we get caught sneaking out, at least I’ll have been keeping an eye on him. His additional way is taking the blame for this whole thing if we do end up getting caught with no excuse.  
  
I talked to Kellin a few hours ago, and Mike talked to Tony. At midnight, we’ll all be meeting up right inside the club, where the main spectacle will be Kellin’s participation in Karaoke Night. It’s currently 11:40, and Mom and Dad have just fallen asleep.  
  
"Mike," I whisper across the hall. "The time has come."  
  
At first, there’s no reaction, and I wonder if maybe Mike got distracted and forgot. But then, with his feet making no sound, he slips from his bedroom to mine, like a ghost. “Fuck yes,” he says, closing my door softly. “Is Kellin gonna do that Karaoke Night thing you were talking about?”  
  
"He says he’s still thinking about it. But I have a feeling he’ll do it."  
  
"Fantastic." Mike heads over to my window and opens it up.  
  
"You know, we  _could_  just go out the front door.”  
  
He shrugs. “I know. But this is more fun.” Then he jumps out.  
  
I expect to hear some loud crash, some indication that his landing was not a smooth one, but when I peer over the ledge, I just see his dark form waving at me.  _Fuck it,_  I think, and I jump right out after him.  
  
For the few seconds that I’m in the air and the moment I hit the ground, I get the most satisfying feeling of adrenaline. “You’re right,” I say, unlocking the car and hopping into the driver’s seat. “That  _was_  more fun.”  
  
Mike takes his place at shotgun. “See, I told you.”  
  
I start the car up, and the sound makes me wince. “They won’t wake up,” Mike assures me. “Just think of that time a couple years ago when there was this big-ass thunderstorm during the night, and we were up the whole time listening to it ‘cause we couldn’t get back to sleep, and the next morning Mom and Dad woke up like, ‘What thunderstorm?’ They sleep like rocks.”  
  
I laugh, because it’s all true. I remember that night clearly.  
  
So we pull out of the driveway, with the club and Kellin and Tony all calling our names. It’s 11:43.  
  
Mike starts laughing. “I just thought of something.”  
  
I narrow my eyes. “What?”  
  
"Well, I don’t know how much time you and your boyfriend will have alone, but I  _do_  know this…” Then, in a singsong voice, he says, “ _Vic’s getting laid tonight_!”


	11. The Nightclub Sets the Stage

**Chapter 10 - Kellin**  
  
Damn, does Vic look good in black.  
  
That’s not to say he doesn’t look good in any other color, but tonight he’s wearing all black—having changed from the clothes he slept in—and god _damn_ , does he look good in it.  
  
Maybe the lighting has something to do with it, too, dark and bright at the same time. Maybe the fact that I’m already slightly intoxicated also has something to do with it. Or maybe it’s just the fact that black seems to make everybody sexier, and Vic is already plenty sexy.  
  
"Ooh, damn," Justin says from behind me, as if reading my mind. "Vic looks like a fucking  _model_.”  
  
"I know," I say, turning my attention back to him. We’re standing at the bar, since there aren’t any stools left, and Tony waits right with us. I wave in Vic’s direction—he and Mike have both arrived. "Hey!" I call. "Over here, you hot piece of ass!"  
  
Mike makes a fake-surprised face at me, putting his hand up to his heart and calling back, “Why, thank you, random stranger!”  
  
Vic laughs, and they both head over to us. “Stop hitting on my brother,” Vic teases, pulling me closer to him. “You’re  _my_  boyfriend.”  
  
I lean in even closer, my lips inches from his. “I wouldn’t  _dream_  of hitting on your brother,” I say in a low voice, and his breath catches. I smile, because I knew it would.  
  
"Am I interrupting something?" a voice asks. I pull away and turn to the bar, where Tracy is standing on the other side, leaning on it with her elbows.  
  
"Yeah, dude, seriously," Justin says, sticking his tongue out. He and Tracy are the only ones left; Mike and Tony have already disappeared. "If you’re gonna do that, get a room, or at least wait until you’re alone."  
  
Tracy rolls her eyes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. I can see much ass-grabbing and numerous make-out sessions from right here. And there have been at least three prostitutes.”  
  
"And anyways, this  _is_  a room,” Vic adds. “So that problem has already been solved.”  
  
"Plus," I say, "you didn’t even have to come."  
  
Justin holds his hands up. “Okay, okay. One, your sass is unappreciated, Vic.” Vic grins. “Two, I wanted to see your moment of stardom, Kellin. And three—Tracy, how do you know they’re prostitutes?”  
  
"Um, because I  _know_  them. And I know they’re prostitutes.” She turns and looks at me. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about, Kell—your moment of stardom.”  
  
“ _Possible_  moment of stardom,” I correct. “I still haven’t decided. I mean, what song would I even do?”  
  
"They’ve got a gazillion songs," Tracy says. "I should know. I hear at least one new one every time. You’re bound to find something."  
  
"Well," I say slowly, turning to Vic, "there  _was_  one idea that I’d been entertaining…”  
  
Vic raises an eyebrow. “Do I wanna know?”  
  
"How much do you know of ‘MakeDamnSure’, Vic?"  
  
His eyes widen. “ _What_?”  
  
“‘MakeDamnSure’. How much do you know of it?”  
  
"The whole thing," he replies. Then he bites his lip. "Damn it. Should’ve lied."  
  
I take his hand. “We’re gonna sing it together.”  
  
"No way. I can’t sing."  
  
"Bullshit. I heard you sing earlier today."  
  
"That was only, like, three lines!"  
  
"And they were good three lines. Come on, sing it with me. Please? Please."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because if I am going to embarrass myself tonight on that stage, then goddammit, Vic, so are you."  
  
"Du-et! Du-et! Du-et!" Justin chants.  
  
"No," Vic says. I can see him trying not to smile. "No duets." He turns to Tracy. "Are duets allowed here?"  
  
She nods. “Sorry, Vic. Actually, no, I’m not that sorry. This will be interesting to see.”  
  
"Oh, yeah," I say. "I forgot to introduce you two—Tracy, Vic. Vic, Tracy."  
  
"She’s the one who came up with this lovely idea," Justin puts in.  
  
"Thanks a lot, Tracy," Vic says, and Tracy smiles innocently. "They probably won’t even have it anyways," he adds.  
  
Justin stands up. “I’ll go check. ‘MakeDamnSure’ by Taking Back Sunday, right?”  
  
"Yep," I say. "But if they don’t have it, neither of us are doing this. Alright?"  
  
"Fine," Justin replies before walking away. Vic sighs with relief.  
  
I turn to Tracy. “Remind me—when does Karaoke Night officially start, again?”  
  
"12:30. We go pretty late. So technically, I guess we should call it Karaoke Morning."  
  
"Petition to have the name changed." I down the rest of my drink, which I have been rudely ignoring throughout this conversation. I don’t want to get too drunk, though; not tonight. I want to remember everything about Vic, and I don’t want to make a fool out of myself onstage, on the off chance that this club has—  
  
"They have it," Justin announces triumphantly. "And I already put your names in. Too late to back out now."  
  
"What do you mean,  _put our names in_?” Vic asks.  
  
"They have this, like, computer thing and you enter in the song and the people who are singing it, so I put it all in," Justin explains. "But there are probably a bunch of people who already signed up before you, so you’ve got some time to get ready before it’s your turn."  
  
"Okay, then," I say, turning to Vic and pointing to two empty barstools a few feet away. "Let’s sit over there, and we can figure out how to divide it all up."  
  
So we sit down and discuss who’s going to sing which lines. I’m having an increasingly difficult time ignoring my temptation to get more drunk than I already am—I keep thinking that maybe it would be better if I don’t remember anything. But if I get even one refill, two drinks will turn to six in five minutes flat. Tracy knows this as well as I do, and Vic’s smart enough to figure it out. So when someone announces the start of Karaoke Night and I lift up my glass, contemplating, he shakes his head and says, “No way. If _I’m_  doing this without alcohol, then you sure as hell are, too.”  
  
"Good point." I set it back down as the first two singers take the stage.  
  
Several performers later, Tracy pops in and says, “You two should be up soon, I’m thinking.”  
  
I raise my fist up in the air, confidently proclaiming, “I’m not ready!”  
  
At that moment, the current song ends, and our names are announced, along with our song.  
  
"Oh, shit," I say, pulling my jacket off and handing it to Tracy. "Tracy, can you hold my jacket?"  
  
"Will do!"  
  
Vic seems to have frozen, so I take his hand, and we head up to the stage. “Just get it over with,” I whisper, and he nods.  
  
I lead up the stairs with Vic hanging back. I’m starting the song, so I grab my mic from off its stand and hold it close to my lips, lowering my voice and making it rough: “ _You’ve got this new head filled up with smoke…_ ”  
  
I can feel my pulse slowing down slightly as I remember everything I’ve taught myself in the shower. But then Vic jumps onto the stage, taking his mic as if he’s done this stage move a hundred times before and glancing at me, as if he’s singing to me—his voice is rougher than mine and much, much hotter—and as he talks about my “most obvious weakness”, as he tells me I am everything he wants, I almost forget my next line.  
  
But I don’t, so I step forward, singing an octave higher and praying my voice doesn’t crack. I’m apparently having the same effect on Vic as he is on me, judging by the way he stares at me and almost forgets to jump in with, “ _How close is close enough_?”  
  
I might look and sound confident, but really I’m thinking,  _Oh, God, we should’ve practiced this. We should’ve made damn sure that we wouldn’t give each other orgasms with our voices._  
  
But then we break into the chorus, and my nervousness starts to fade. We’ve got the audience now—some people are singing along and some are just watching, but all of them have their eyes on us, and I don’t think it’s in a bad way.  
  
The second verse goes much more smoothly. Vic seems to be getting accustomed to singing without holding a guitar, and I start to let my free hand wander in the air, occasionally pressing it onto my chest at certain lines.  
  
 _Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea,_  I think as the second chorus comes around.  _Maybe I could get used to this._  
  
The music slows down, everything growing quiet and patient as I take a step back to let Vic have the spotlight. Because this is the solo I insisted on giving him, and he takes a shaky, sexy breath into the microphone before whisper-singing, “ _I’m gonna make damn sure that you can’t ever leave…_ ”  
  
And he grows more confident with every word—I can tell—so when his voice shoots up, it shoots  _up_ , crashing through the ceiling and stealing my breath away, leaving me with only two thoughts: First,  _Holy fuck I didn’t know his voice could do that_ ; and second,  _Oh God I’m a flaming homo._  
  
I burst back in for the final chorus, and when we sing our last note, we both raise our fists as if we’re performing in front of thousands of people instead of a random club at one in the morning. The audience applauds, and as Vic and I return our microphones to their stands and step off the stage, Vic pants into my ear, “Your voice…is so fucking  _hot_.”  
  
He sounds even more aroused than I am.  
  
I wonder if anybody noticed.  
  
That thought is answered a few seconds later, when we return to the bar and Justin says, “Stage porn. Stage porn stage porn stage porn stage porn stage porn  _stage porn_.”  
  
"Was it that obvious?" I ask breathlessly.  
  
Tracy nods, smirking a little. “The way you two looked at each other…I was just waiting for one of you to give in and jump on top of the other.”  
  
"Don’t you have a job to do?" I point out, which is what I say to her when I can’t come up with a response but refuse to admit it.  
  
She shakes her head, gesturing to the people all around us. “Everyone’s pretty much wasted by now,” she says. “So at this point of the night, my only job is to watch the stupidity unfold.”  
  
"Well, that’s great," I say. "You do that. Because Vic and I are going to the bathroom." Vic takes my hand, gripping it firmly, and I lead him away, still hearing his singing voice in my head.  
  
Just as I hoped, there is no one but us in here. So, without warning, I pick Vic up and throw him against the wall, my face inches from his. We’re still sweat-soaked and red-faced—even Vic’s tan skin can’t hide it—and as I lean in closer, my mouth right at his ear, I whisper, “Sing for me, baby.”  
  
In a strained voice, Vic whispers back, “Make me.”  
  
So I kiss him hard, my one hand against the wall and my other one keeping him upright as he wraps his legs around my waist and his arms around my neck. I bite at his earlobe before making my way down his jawline. He tries to shove my mouth away with his shoulder—he knows what I’m doing. I’m going to make him sing for me, and he’s not going to have that.  
  
Two can play at this game.  
  
I grind my body against his, hard and rough, fast enough that he isn’t prepared and lets out a gasp. He leans forward slightly, ready to kiss me on the mouth—because if he’s kissing me, my lips can’t reach his neck—but I grind harder, biting my own tongue at the friction. He moans a little, his plan foiled.  
  
"Keep singing," I demand.  
  
Vic shakes his head. “You can’t make m—”  
  
His words turn into another moan as my hand pulls his shirt up and roams around on the bare skin, touching him just lightly enough to make him go crazy. Automatically, he leans his head back, and just as he realizes his mistake, I bite at his neck, taking note of the hickey from last night. This should make me stop, but I just heard his beautiful singing voice for the first time, and all I can think is that if he’ll let me, I want him naked in front of me right now.  
  
His neck is the last straw, and I swear to God, he actually starts  _singing_ , his voice frantically flying up and down the scale. “You win,” he gasps finally, climbing off of me and resting his hands on my hips, his fingers playing with the hem of my jeans. “Oh, God, you win.”  
  
At the position of his hands, which move slowly to the opening of my pants, I start thinking,  _Oh, God, this is it, we’re going to fuck in the bathroom of a club—_  
  
When someone opens the door.  
  
Vic yanks his hands away, and I spin around, taking a step backward. The person is Jesse, who takes one look at us and knows exactly what we were up to just a few seconds ago.  
  
"Kellin," he says. He nods briefly at Vic, narrowing his eyes. "Vic." Turning back to me, he says, "I need to talk to you."  
  
I glance over at Vic. “Go,” I say. “I’ll handle this.”  
  
Vic nods slowly. “I’ll, uh, go check up on Mike,” he says, lowering his head and high-tailing it out of here.  
  
As soon as the door shuts, I turn to Jesse, leaning against the wall and crossing my arms over my chest—a position I seem to use a lot around him. “So. We meet again.”  
  
"Nice performance. Thanks for doing that, by the way. I wouldn’t have even known you were here if you hadn’t gotten up on stage like that."  
  
I scowl. “It wasn’t for you. Nothing I do will ever be for you.”  
  
Jesse raises an eyebrow. “Jeez, that’s cold. Why do you hate me so much anyways?”  
  
"I never said I hated you."  
  
"You know what I mean. Why aren’t you giving me any chances?"  
  
I take a step forward. “I gave you a chance, asshole. And what did you do with it? You destroyed it. But you know what? I’m over it. I don’t care. I’m not angry anymore. I just don’t want anything to do with you. Is that so hard to wrap your head around?”  
  
"If you’re over it, then why won’t you just let me prove myself?"  
  
"Because there’s someone else, Jesse!" I snap. "I’m over it and I’m done with you and I’m dating the one I should’ve been dating all this time."  
  
"Who? Vic? Tell me, Kellin: Will that son of a bitch stick around after you fuck him and unleash the Whore?"  
  
I’m speechless for a moment. He’s struck a hard blow, and he knows it. “Two things,” I say. “One: Yes, Vic’s mother  _is_  a bitch. Two: Don’t you _dare_  bring up the Whore. He’s locked up forever.”  
  
Jesse smirks a little. “He’s locked up, but he’s not dead. There’s no forever until he’s dead. He could always break out—and from what I saw onstage and when I walked in here, he seems to be getting pretty damn close.”  
  
I shake my head. “No,” I say, sounding too desperate for my liking. “He’s not. I’ll make sure of that.”  
  
"People still talk about you that way, y’know," Jesse continues, as if I didn’t even speak. "Not around here, but other places. ‘Hey, where did the Whore go? He used to be here all the time.’ Several times, I’ve heard people say things like, ‘One time I hooked up with the Whore. It was the best night of my life.’"  
  
"Well, you can tell all those people that the Whore is gone for good. So, yes, to answer your question: Vic  _will_  stick around for me. And I’ll stick around for him. He said he’d make damn sure of that.”  
  
Jesse glares at me, the smile gone. “Hilarious. I’ll say this, Kellin: Josh has the right idea when it comes to hurting you.” Then he turns around and starts to walk back out.  
  
It takes me a few seconds to realize what he means, but when I do, I yell after him, “Wait! Aren’t you going to kick my ass or something?”  
  
But I don’t care how much he beats me up. Josh knows it, and Jesse knows it, too.  
  
"No way," he says, glancing over his shoulder at me. "I’m not going to fuck up your pretty face. It wouldn’t do anything anyways. Vic, though? Now _there’s_  a pretty face I’d like to fuck up. And it would absolutely kill you.” He walks out the door.  
  
"No!" I shout, banging my head against the wall. " _Idiot_!”  
  
I never should have kissed Vic. I should have known bringing him into my world would be dangerous. I should have known better. Why don’t I ever know better? Why do I always fuck up?  
  
I bolt out of the bathroom, frantically searching for my boyfriend. I can’t let anyone hurt him, and there is a sizable amount of people who want to hurt him. After a few seconds of scanning, I see him, standing near the middle of the club and looking around as if he’s trying to find something.  
  
"Vic!" I call. He turns, brief relief crossing his face when he sees me, and rushes over to my side.  
  
"I lost Mike," he says.  
  
"Wait, what?"  
  
"I lost Mike," he repeats. "He’s gone. I don’t know where he is." I can hear the panic in his voice.  
  
"Whoa, whoa. Okay, calm down." I take his hand. "You two snuck out together, right? He has to come back eventually so you can go home together. Maybe he just wanted some alone time somewhere."  
  
"He could’ve forgotten," Vic says. "He does that a lot. Or gotten distracted. Or something could’ve happened to him. I just need to find him."  
  
"I’ll help you, okay?" I squeeze his hand. "I’ll help you look for h—"  
  
Someone grabs my arm and pulls it hard, yanking me away from Vic and out of his grasp. I spin around to see who it is—and come face-to-face with Craig, from our old school.  
  
Of course.  
  
He smirks. “Nice performance.” Then, before I can move, he gives me the hardest punch I’ve ever felt.


	12. Nothing But Trouble

**Chapter 11 - Vic**  
  
I expect Kellin to get right back up. I mean, yes, I heard the crack as Craig’s fist met his face. Yes, it definitely looked like it could do some damage. But I still expect Kellin to get up. He always gets up.  
  
Not this time.  
  
This time he falls backward against the wall with blood staining his face. We’ve shifted from the center of the club to one side, where we’ll draw less attention. Even if people do happen to see us, they’re all wasted—chances are, they won’t be of much help.  
  
Craig cracks his knuckles and turns to me. “ _That_  was satisfying.”  
  
I glance at Kellin, and in that brief moment, I see something in his pocket: his knife. I dive for it just as Craig swings his fist my way, missing me by a millimeter. I yank the knife out of Kellin’s pocket and hold it up in front of me.  
  
But I can’t stab anybody; I’m afraid. Craig doesn’t seem to know this, though, judging by the way his eyes widen and he freezes. “What are you going to do with that?”  
  
Wow. Kellin was right—he  _is_  intimidated by a knife. It’s that easy.  
  
"You don’t want to find out," I say, my voice coming out sounding stronger than I expected. "Walk away, and you won’t."  
  
Craig looks like he’s just about to do it, just about to walk away and leave us alone, when a hand flies out from nowhere and knocks the knife right out of my hands.  
  
I whirl around, coming face-to-face with a guy I immediately recognize as Jesse, who interrupted my make-out session with Kellin about twenty minutes ago.  
  
"Hey there, Vic," he says, smirking. Unlike Craig, it seems that Jesse is  _not_ intimidated by a knife. “Looks like you’ve got quite a few enemies, huh?”  
  
He punches me before I can respond, sending me flying backward and making me hit the same wall that Kellin is still slumped against. I see stars and blink a few times, and just as I’m pulling myself back to my feet, Jesse shoves me back down again. The world is blurring a little, but I can clearly hear a familiar voice say, “Hell fucking no.”  
  
When my vision refocuses, I call, “Mike?”  
  
Sure enough, Mike and Tony have taken over, with Tony chasing Craig away fairly easily and Mike facing Jesse seemingly without an ounce of fear. He’s pretty impressive, actually.  
  
"Vic?" a raspy voice says from next to me.  
  
I turn to Kellin, whose eyes are slowly blinking back open. “Yeah?”  
  
He winces. “You okay?”  
  
"Am  _I_  okay?” I push myself up to a standing position. “You’re the one who went unconscious. I’m doing fantastic.” I hold out my hand, and after a second of hesitation, he takes it and pulls himself up.  
  
When I look back at the fight scene, I don’t see Craig or Jesse anymore. ( _That_  was fast.) I just see Tony giving Mike a high-five. In his other hand, Mike holds Kellin’s knife.  
  
Kellin’s hand reaches into his pocket. When he doesn’t feel anything there, he turns to me. “Where’s my knife?”  
  
I nod to my brother. “Mike has it.”  
  
Kellin waves at him, leaning on me for support. “Hey, can I have that back?”  
  
Mike turns to us. “What? Oh, sure. Here.” He hands it to Kellin. “I kind of have a feeling that if we stay here much longer, that’s just gonna keep happening. You’ve got a lot of enemies.”  
  
"So it seems," I say, and Kellin looks away, almost guiltily. "And unfortunately for you, Mike, you’re probably going to have to come with us, if we’re going to stick to our plan."  
  
"No, that’s fine. I’ll drive. You can get into the back with Pretty Boy."  
  
"Pretty Boy?" Kellin repeats.  
  
Mike ignores him and turns to Tony, who nods and says, “Go. It’s fine. We’ll meet up again tomorrow or something.”  
  
Mike nods back, and they stare at each other for what might be slightly longer than necessary before Mike turns to us and says, “Now, Vic, bring thy crippled one forth. We are hereby blowing thy hypothetical popsicle stand.”  
  
“ _Crippled_ ,” Kellin mutters under his breath. Again, Mike ignores him, leading us both outside and to the car. He opens the back door for us before hopping into the driver’s seat. “But you can’t drive,” I tell him.  
  
"On the contrary," he replies as we pull out onto the street. "I  _can_  drive; I’m just not allowed to yet.”  
  
Shrugging, I turn to Kellin. “Are you okay? Think you’re gonna need to go to the doctor’s?”  
  
He shakes his head, reaching over and taking my hand. “Nah, I’ve felt way worse than this and not gone to the doctor’s. I’ll just sleep it off.”  
  
With that, the conversation is over until we pull into our house’s driveway, which is when I realize that we never dropped Kellin off at his apartment. “Mike, is Kellin sleeping over tonight?” I ask.  
  
Mike shrugs. “I guess so. Do you think he’ll get caught?”  
  
"Not if he leaves early."  
  
"I’ll leave if you want me to," Kellin says. "I can walk back or something."  
  
"No." I pull him out of the car. "Please stay."  
  
Mike is already at the front door, opening it softly, even though we both know our parents won’t wake up. “Welcome to the nuthouse,” Mike says to Kellin. “Don’t knock over any cups this time.”  
  
Kellin laughs a little, but I don’t get it—I’ll have to ask him later. We all head upstairs, where Kellin unexpectedly takes the lead, only to flop onto my bed and sigh like it’s the most amazing thing in the world. “Your bed is so  _comfortable_ ,” he says. “I’d go to sleep, but I should probably text Justin first and let him know where I am. And also to tell him to get my jacket from Tracy.”  
  
He pulls out his phone, the screen illuminating his face. I can see the dried bloodstains on his skin and the tiredness in his eyes. But I only have enough time to catch that one glimpse, because then he turns his phone off and sets it on the side table. “Okay, now I can sleep.”  
  
And within two minutes, he does fall asleep. I’ve just been standing here in my bedroom doorway because I’m actually not tired. So I stare at him, thinking.  
  
"You’re wide awake, too?" Mike says from behind me.  
  
Stepping inside my room and leaning against the wall, I nod. “You can stay in here for a little bit if you want.”  
  
Mike shrugs and stands next to me, folding his arms over his chest. “Alright.” He smirks. “So. Was my prediction right?”  
  
I narrow my eyes in confusion. “What?”  
  
"Did you get laid?"  
  
"Oh. That." I smile and look down at the ground.  
  
"You did, didn’t you?"  
  
"Why would I tell you?"  
  
"You  _did_!”  
  
I shake my head. “Okay, fine, no. But I think I came pretty damn close.”  
  
Mike pumps his fist. “Fuck yes.” Then his expression changes, growing more thoughtful. “You really like him, don’t you?”  
  
I nod slowly. “Yeah. I really do.”  
  
After a few moments of silence, he walks out of my room, calling over his shoulder, “Hold on a sec.”  
  
I can hear some faint shuffling sounding from his room, and then he comes back with a notebook and a pen. He sits down in the computer chair at my desk, flipping the notebook open to a blank page. “Tell me a story, Vic. Tell me the story of you and Kellin.”  
  
I just stare at him in disbelief. We haven’t done this since we were kids. “What? Why?”  
  
"So I can write the story of Kellic Quentes, duh. And I’m gonna actually finish this one."  
  
I sigh, closing my bedroom door. “What do I have to tell you?”  
  
"Everything. I’m gonna take notes tonight, and then later I’ll put it all together. And I want you to update me whenever something big or important happens with you guys. Like when you inevitably  _do_  get laid.”  
  
"Um, isn’t this a bit personal?" I say. "Don’t you think we’d want some things to stay just between us?"  
  
"Yeah, I know you do. You just have to tell me the major things. You don’t even have to give details. I’ll make a bunch of it up, y’know?"  
  
"Yeah," I say, nodding. "Okay."  
  
Back when we were younger, I’d tell a story, and Mike would take notes on it and then give it his own spin—or, at least, he’d start to, until he got bored—but it was always a made-up story. This is different, and if it was any other third party asking about me and Kellin, I’d shut them down immediately. But this is Mike. So, bringing my storytelling voice back from ten years ago, I say, “It all started around mid-March, when Kellin and I were both seventeen….”  
  
And then I just start talking, about how he was assigned as my project partner, about our very first conversations, about the way we clicked despite the fact that he was a new-kid outcast and I was popular with a bunch of friends. I talk about what drew me into him, what I began to find attractive about him, how I started to fall for him and care about him.  
  
I hesitate at the point in time where I’m supposed to tell Mike about the last night we saw each other before Kellin moved. But then, from the bed, Kellin’s groggy voice says, “You can tell him, Vic.” He lifts his head up and gives us a small smile. “I’m past caring.”  
  
"I—how long have you been listening?" I ask, but Kellin is out again, just like that.  
  
So I take a deep breath and relive the crazy night.  
  
That crazy night happened to be Prom Night. Kellin and I were both single, but we managed to find dates—female ones—just for this one event. Neither of us really had any specific reason for going—I didn’t, at least. I was just curious, and besides, the popular kids always go, or so they told me.  
  
Kellin, however, seemed to have a plan, which I wasn’t aware of until he actually put it into action. I have to give him credit for bravery—he didn’t even know if I was gay or not, but he cornered me alone in the bathroom and professed his feelings for me with what seemed like absolutely no fear or shame (while on a date with someone else, I might add). And then we kissed.  
  
And then we did a little bit more than just kiss.  
  
And then we completely threw caution to the wind.  
  
On this particular night, Kellin and I both happened to forget that high school bathrooms generally do not stay empty for very long. Unfortunately, this bathroom stayed empty long enough for us to get almost completely naked, so desperate and impatient after waiting until our very last night to take a step forward.  
  
To say that we were embarrassed is an understatement. To say that the people who found us were surprised is an even bigger understatement. Long story short, it turned into a high-speed chase, and because news spread like wildfire, our dates found out within minutes. In all the chaos, Kellin’s phone got smashed, and when people came too close, he whipped out his inner badass in front of me for the first time. He wasn’t afraid to hurt someone if it meant getting me out of there alive.  
  
I always hear funny stories about people crashing Prom Night—but for us, it wasn’t funny. Not when everyone at school turned on me. Not when I realized that one thing could change someone’s entire opinion of you.  
  
Mike doesn’t react, or if he does, he doesn’t show it. He just holds up his phone, using it as light, and dutifully writes down what I say, as if I’m reciting a history lecture. This is probably the longest he’s ever stayed interested in a story of mine. Usually by now he’d be on to something else.  
  
So I continue on, telling him about what has happened since we reunited—not everything, but some main points. When I’m finished, Mike closes his notebook, stands up, and says, “That will be sufficient. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to try to sleep.”  
  
"Yeah, that’s probably a good idea."  
  
After he leaves, I sit down in the computer chair and keep on staring at Kellin. I want to ask him some things: I want to ask him why he has cut us off, twice now, in the middle of kissing. I want to ask him why all the kids at school are scared of him. I want to ask him about the Whore. But he’s asleep, and besides, it’s not his place to tell me, and it’s not my place to know. So instead I get into bed, lying down next to him and resting my hand on his chest. His lips are moving faintly, and when I lean in close, I can hear him singing in his sleep, the words so soft I might just be imagining them. He’s singing “MakeDamnSure”, and at the thought of our earlier performance, I smile to myself.  _How?_  I wonder.  _How could such an incredible human being choose me, of all people?_  
  
Not that I’m complaining, of course.  
  
At some point, I guess I fall asleep, because the next thing I know, I’m being shaken awake, and a harsh voice in my ear shouts, “Victor!”  
  
Oh, shit. The full name.  
  
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" That’s Kellin talking. "Calm down, I can expla—"  
  
"Kellin, I think you should leave." Dad’s voice is cold, making it clear that what he’s saying is not a request, but an order.  
  
I lift my head up and rub my eyes. Kellin is standing in the middle of the room, facing my father, his back to the window. “Look,” he says, “I swear this isn’t as bad as it seems—”  
  
"Oh, really? And you are sleeping with my son  _why_?”  
  
"Um, because he’s my friend and I needed a place to crash?"  
  
"Vic!" Dad snaps, and I sit up. "Did you inform Kellin of our new rule?"  
  
"Oh. Uh…no," I say, for once not telling the truth. "I forgot." I turn to Kellin. "I’m not allowed to see you outside of school."  
  
"Oh," Kellin says. "Okay, then I’ll just go—"  
  
"Wait, what’s that?" Dad asks, pointing to an object pointing out of Kellin’s pocket. "Are you carrying a  _knife_?”  
  
"It’s for self-defense purposes, sir—"  
  
"Don’t give me any of that bullshit. I talked to your parents recently. Know what they told me about you? You’re a burnout. A delinquent. You hang out with scum. You’re always getting into fights. You ran away and they haven’t heard from you in months. Said they thought you’d gone to join a gang or some shit."  
  
"I never ran away," Kellin says. "And what does my bad rep have to do with Vic or Mike?"  
  
"You’re a bad influence, Kellin. Stay away from my sons."  
  
"Bullshit!" Kellin yells, startling both me and Dad. "Don’t act like you give a fuck if I influence Vic, because you don’t. You don’t give a fuck about him or what happens to him. He could die and all you’d be worried about is who’s gonna make sure Mike doesn’t get into trouble. And don’t get me wrong, Mike’s a great guy, but what the  _hell_  is with the favoritism?”  
  
"Get out," Dad says. "Or I’ll call the police. I’ll report you for breaking and entering."  
  
"But I didn’t break. I just entered."  
  
"Enough!" Dad shouts. "Get the hell out of our house and get the hell out of our lives. You’re nothing but trouble. Go back to the curb, or wherever the hell you live."  
  
For a moment Kellin just stands there, stunned. He glances at me, then turns around, opens the window, and hops out gracefully. Dad steps forward and closes it. “Good riddance.”  
  
"Dad," I say softly. "Don’t talk to him that way."  
  
"Well, if I can help it, we won’t be seeing him again, so I won’t be talking to him in any way."  
  
"Dad, please. I don’t…like seeing him talked to that way." As soon as I speak the words, I regret saying anything.  
  
"Well, you know what? The world doesn’t revolve around you. I wouldn’t have had to talk to him like that—or at all—if you hadn’t let him in.  _Think_ for once.”  
  
Then he storms out of my room, slamming the door behind him. I kind of want to say something else, but it won’t do any good. My opinion doesn’t really matter anyways.


	13. Careful

**Chapter 12 - Kellin**  
  
I consider smashing Vic’s parents’ car window or something, before realizing that that’ll just prove my supposed delinquency. So instead, on the hood of their car, I write them a note:  
  
 _You know, I could’ve smashed your windshield. But I didn’t. That counts for something, right?  
  
…Yeah, I didn’t think so either.  
  
—you know who  
  
P.S. Your son is a phenomenal kisser. You should appreciate him a little bit more._  
  
That last part is probably a bit risky, considering Vic isn’t out with his parents, but as he told me once, “They wouldn’t really care either way. It would be a waste of time.”  
  
I walk away from the house and down the street, trying not to think about Vic or his parents or my parents or Jesse or Josh or Brutus-whose-real-name-is-still-unknown. Trying not to think at all, really. It’s more difficult out here where Vic lives, in the suburbs, but as soon as I arrive at the city, it starts to get easier. I can lose myself in my surroundings, in the noise and the chaos. I can let it all fill my head and shove my other thoughts away.  
  
I’m entering my shitty neighborhood, lost in this city-induced daze, when a voice behind me says, “Well, look who it is. Didn’t expect to see you out so early.”  
  
Oh, great.  
  
I spin around as a rough hand grabs me and pulls me into the alley, fists swinging at my face and fingers gripping my clothes, holding me down. I can’t reach my knife when both my arms are useless, and I definitely can’t do much when four guys from Josh’s gang—including Josh himself, the person who spoke—have trapped me successfully.  
  
"Thought you could get away with it, huh?" Josh says. "Thought you’d scare us? You just gave us even more reason to do this."  
  
As they cave in on me, I try to duck my head, twisting, kicking out, even spitting in their eyes like Justin likes to do (though my aim is always off), anything to break free. Only now do I realize how stupid my plan was—I was so angry, I didn’t even think about it until now. I didn’t realize that by stealing all their shit, I wasn’t ending anything at all—I was declaring war.  
  
"Red cup!" I yell frantically, hoping that someone who knows the code words will somehow hear, not caring how weird I probably sound. " _Red cup_!”  
  
A hand clasps over my mouth, so I bite it, which doesn’t really have much effect. I’m in a constant state of being punched and kicked, knocked against the wall and cut with knives. I can feel aches and stings everywhere, and I can taste blood on my tongue, but then a flash pops out of nowhere, tackling someone. With one less pair of hands on me, I kick another guy in the crotch, and he doubles over. The flash—I have now identified him as Justin—jumps up and attacks one of the remaining two, while the injured rise to their feet. Josh, of course, is the one still leftover.  
  
"Heads up!" Justin yells, and in between a few punches, he spits in Josh’s direction. It hits slightly too far to the right, but the millisecond that it distracts him for is just enough time for me to slide my wrists out of his grasp.  
  
I take a few steps forward, and my knees buckle underneath me. “Fuck,” I mutter, putting my hand up to the wall to steady myself. Justin’s hand tugs on my arm, leading me away as I stumble. Josh and his minions don’t chase after us. They know they’ve made their point.  
  
It feels like hours have passed by the time we reach the apartment building, but in reality, I was only a few blocks away from it when I got attacked. “You’re so damn lucky that I decided I needed some fresh air and went outside for a morning walk,” Justin says breathlessly as we step into our apartment.  
  
I fall onto the couch, closing my eyes as the pain that hid during the fight reveals itself in full force. “Fuck,” I repeat, gritting my teeth.  
  
"I’m not a First Aid expert," Justin says, "but I’d say Gabe is pretty good at it. I’m gonna call him and see if he can come over for you. Unless you want to go to an actual doctor."  
  
I shake my head, which causes it to pound even harder. “No. No doctor. Don’t need doctor. Call Gabe.”  
  
So Justin calls Gabe, his voice becoming a bit muffled and hard to understand. I open my eyes, my vision blurred, and stare at my bleeding arms. After Justin hangs up, I tell him, “I got blood on the couch.”  
  
He says something like, “I’ll clean it out later.”  
  
For the next ten minutes or so, I just breathe in and out as my vision and hearing return to their normal state and Justin wraps both my arms with gauze. (I didn’t even know we still  _had_  gauze. I thought we used it all up over the summer. Then again, I don’t check the medicine cabinet that often.)  
  
"Do you think it’s over?" Justin asks, sitting down in another chair. "With Josh and everything? Do you think they made their point and will go off terrorizing someone else now?"  
  
"He’s after Vic," I blurt.  
  
Justin’s eyes widen. “What?”  
  
"Josh. He says he’s going to kill Vic. Because I killed Oli."  
  
"Well, you don’t…you don’t  _believe_  him, do you?” He tries to laugh it off, tries to act like Josh would never seriously do something like that, but he’s not fooling either of us—not himself, and not me.  
  
"Yes, I  _do_  believe him,” I say. “I believe that if Josh so wishes it, Vic may end up dead because of me. And I have to make sure that doesn’t happen.”  
  
"Well, they’re after you, too," Justin says. "I’d say you need to be protected just as much as Vic does."  
  
I want to argue, but the slowly subsiding pain reminds me that while I’m in this state, I shouldn’t really be talking. So instead I say, “I probably sound like a dick right now. Being all paranoid and shit.”  
  
"You sound like someone who doesn’t want to see their boyfriend killed," Justin says. "Just try to think of something else."  
  
I nod, and a few minutes later, Gabe arrives. It turns out my injuries aren’t all that bad. It seems I got amazingly lucky, especially with that sort of attack. Even so, I’ll probably be up and around sooner than I’m supposed to be anyways. Which means that in a few hours, I’ll be out, though I don’t know where I’ll go. I’m just used to going out into the city, or maybe the field. Somewhere.  
  
After Gabe leaves, Justin blurts, “Promise me your Whore days are over.”  
  
I push myself up into a sitting position, surprised. “Of course they are.”  
  
"Good. I mean, don’t get me wrong; I love sex. Sex is great. But like…"  
  
"I know," I say, sighing. "I’m just afraid that if I get too close, something will happen, or I’ll do something, or…"  
  
“ _We lay, we lay together_ ,” Justin interrupts, singing part of “MakeDamnSure”. “ _Just not too close, too close…_ ”  
  
I nod. “Exactly. Jesse said something to me yesterday, when I mentioned that I had that other part of me—the Whore—locked up. He pointed out that locked up doesn’t mean dead. And that other part could always break out.”  
  
"But it won’t," Justin says firmly. "I know it won’t."  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
Justin stands up and starts walking away. “Because you never break a promise.”  
  
And that is that.  
  
—  
  
Justin tells me that I probably shouldn’t be up and around already—it’s about noon, and I’ve just eaten lunch—but I ignore his warning and head out. I’m not sure where I’m going, exactly, so I just let my feet carry me along the streets of the city, down the sidewalk, past various shops and restaurants and buildings. Only when I find myself standing in the driveway to Vic’s house do I realize that I’ve been going this way all along.  
  
 _But I just saw him,_  I think, trying to reason myself out of it. It’s too late, though. I’m coming back, if only to say goodbye properly. Getting kicked out of your boyfriend’s house by his parents is not exactly an ideal way to end a date. I would not recommend it, if at all possible.  
  
I check his parents’ car—my note is still there. I smile to myself. Then I eye the tree positioned right next to Vic’s bedroom window. There are hardly any other houses around here, but I scan the area just in case. With the coast clear, I begin to climb.  
  
I don’t exactly do this very often, but it turns out I’m not as clumsy and horrible as I expected, even with the state I’m in. Soon enough, I’m resting my body on a fairly sturdy branch and leaning in close to peer through the window.  
  
At this point, I realize that I probably should’ve let Vic know I was about to drop in. If you don’t have prior knowledge, I can imagine that seeing your boyfriend suddenly appear at your window might be slightly disorienting.  
  
Such is the case for Vic, who, upon spotting me, is so startled that he nearly falls off the bed because the millisecond-long convulsion of his body is so violent. Before this, he seemed to just be lying on said bed, staring in the direction of the window. I smile at him and wave casually—well, as casually as is possible when dangling from a tree branch in an awkward, somewhat painful position.  
  
Vic stands up and rushes across the room, opening the window and popping his head out. “What are you  _doing_?” he hisses, his gaze flitting around nervously.  
  
I shrug. “Visiting.”  
  
"In  _broad daylight_? When you  _just got kicked out of here six hours ago_?”  
  
"Yeah," I say, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.  
  
Vic shakes his head, almost frantic. “No. You can’t do that.”  
  
"I’m doing it right now."  
  
Vic bites his lip and looks down at his hands, which are tightly gripping the windowsill. I reach across the small gap and put my hand on one of his. “Don’t panic,” I tell him. “You’re not allowed to panic.”  
  
"Who says?"  
  
"The laws of the universe say," I reply, as if it’s a well-known fact. "No one is allowed to panic unless they are at a disco. I see no disco."  
  
Vic smiles, though I think he tries to hold it back. “What if I have a secret disco ball in my room?”  
  
I lean forward until my lips are only an inch from his. “Then I’ll destroy it.”  
  
"What if it’s indestructible?"  
  
I close the distance, kissing him softly. Then, pulling back slightly, I whisper, “You underestimate me.”  
  
We lock eyes, and for a moment we just keep it like that. Then the tree branch shifts underneath me, making a moderately loud  _crack_. “Okay, seriously,” I say. “Let me in before I fall to my death.”  
  
Vic looks like he wants to argue, but after a pause, he just sighs and takes a step back from the window. I pull myself in quickly, as he says, “Careful.”  
  
I make a face, hanging onto the side of the house and swinging one leg over the windowsill. “‘Careful’, unfortunately, is not in my vocabulary.”  
  
"I’ll say," Vic says, looking me over as he notices my various injuries. "What the hell happened to you?"  
  
"Josh happened."  
  
Vic’s eyes widen, and he steps forward, lightly touching my face close to where a black eye has formed. “Do you think it’s over yet? Do you think he’s made his point?”  
  
I take too long trying to decide what to tell him. He shakes his head. “Yeah, I didn’t think so. Plus, then there’s people like Craig and Jesse. Craig kind of just beats me if he gets an opportunity, but he doesn’t necessarily go out looking for one. Jesse, on the other hand…I don’t think he likes me.”  
  
I sit down on the bed. “He’s jealous. Now that he sees me with you, he regrets ever breaking up with me.”  
  
Vic sits down, too. “I hate people.”  
  
"Hey," I say, smiling a little. "I’m a people."  
  
I think he tries to smile back, but it comes out more of a grimace. When he doesn’t respond, I say, “You’re supposed to be me and say that you only hate 99% of people.”  
  
He gives me another grimace-smile and doesn’t say anything.  
  
"Come on," I say softly, positioning myself behind his back and wrapping my arms around him. "Don’t worry about anything. I’m here."  
  
"That’s what I’m worried about," Vic replies quietly. I can’t see his face, but the stiffness of his body tells me enough.  
  
"I just wanted to—"  
  
My sentence is cut off by him jumping out of my arms and the sound of footsteps. “Get out!” Vic whispers frantically.  
  
"But I—"  
  
“ _Go_!” He takes my hand and practically yanks me to the window, shoving it open and gesturing outside. “Don’t come back here. Please. It’s not you, I swear it’s not, I just—go. I need some time alone and I don’t want you to get caught again.”  
  
I just stare at him for a few seconds, and he stares back pleadingly. “It’s not you,” he repeats, and he looks so panicked and desperate that I say nothing more. I just leap out the window like I did this morning, landing on the ground below and nearly yelling out at the pain.  
  
Just as I’m thinking that maybe the footsteps weren’t a threat—that maybe it was just Mike, or that maybe nobody would even come into the room—I hear a harsh voice demand, “Who were you just talking to?”  
  
I sprint.  
  
And, per Vic’s request, I don’t come back, though I want to so badly that it actually physically hurts (or maybe that’s just from this morning). I want to fix everything. But I can’t. We’ve been doomed to endure these problems the moment my lips met his in the hallway.  
  
Once I’ve slowed down, the thoughts creep into my mind, and not even the city can chase them away.  
  
 _Vic said he wanted to be alone,_  a little voice taunts.  _Alone. Without you. See, even he has realized that you’re a fuck-up._  
  
I start to walk faster.  _Shut up,_  I think to the voice.  _Don’t remind me._  
  
The voice says,  _Don’t act like you didn’t expect it. Come on. You knew it’d happen eventually._  
  
I break into a run, desperate to do something about these thoughts. By the time I arrive at the apartment building, I’m completely out of breath, but I’m out of breath to the point that I’ve left the voice in the dust.  
  
Justin’s car isn’t in its usual spot—he must be out somewhere. Sure enough, when I get up to our apartment, the door is locked and the lights are off. It’s empty—perfect. That means there will be no one to tell me to be careful.  
  
I rummage through a bunch of cabinets and drawers before finally settling on a can of black spray paint that I forgot we had. While I’m shaking it, my conscience says,  _I thought you promised you’d try to stop._  
  
 _This is different,_  I tell it, popping the cap off and inhaling.  
  
And different it is. The high is immediate, and I don’t have to get it from Beau or anybody. But it’s also short, and only a few minutes later, I’m coming back and inhaling again.  
  
And again.  
  
And again.  
  
And each time it’s the same promise:  _One more time, and that’s it._  But that promise will inevitably be broken over and over. I don’t want the high to end.  
  
Dizziness and lightheadedness soon make themselves known, almost as if I were drunk. I can hear Vic’s voice in my mind from earlier today:  _Careful._ And again, on Friday night, after I told him about Beau:  _Just don’t get into any trouble._  
  
That’s when the tunnel vision comes, and everything collapses around me. Or maybe I am the one collapsing.


	14. We Have An Emergency

**Chapter 13 - Vic**  
  
I fucked up. I fucked up. I fucked up.  
  
This is the thought repeating endlessly through my mind, long after Kellin leaves and Mom shuts the door again.  _I. Fucked. Up._  
  
Why do I always do this? I let someone in, and then, just as they’re starting to trust me, I push them away because I’m so fucking scared about all the things that could go wrong.  
  
I saw the hurt look on Kellin’s face after I told him I wanted to be alone. He tried to cover it up, but I saw it. After Mom left, I stuck my head out the window and called his name, hoping that maybe he’d waited around. But no. He was long gone.  
  
And why did I want to be alone in the first place? Because I didn’t want to worry him. Didn’t want to worry him with my worrying. I didn’t want to be a burden on him. I didn’t want to fuck up, and in not wanting to fuck up, I fucked up.  
  
Do I want to be alone now? Hell no. Now I just want Kellin back here in this room with his arms wrapped around me. Or, better, somewhere other than this room. Somewhere we can be alone—together.  
  
I pull my phone out, determined to fix this before it’s too late. After a long moment of staring at his number in my contacts, I finally decide to call.  
  
And I get his voicemail box.  
  
I sigh and pull my knees up to my chest, listening as he tells me that he’s not answering his phone for one of two reasons. Something tells me he’s not just blasting his eardrums out.  
  
I stand up and pull on an oversized sweatshirt and a beanie—Mike calls this my “moping outfit”—before lying back down on my bed and staring up at the ceiling. I can’t exactly deny what Mike has pointed out—I have a tendency to wear this when I want to hide somewhere and never come out. Today is no exception.  
  
That plan lasts about ten minutes with no interruption—my phone rings. I pick it up, my heart pounding when I see that it’s Kellin. He’s calling me back. Maybe I’ve still got a chance.  
  
I answer immediately, but before I can speak, a voice says, “Hey, Vic, it’s Justin.”  
  
"Justin?" I repeat. "Why are you calling me? And why do you have Kellin’s phone?"  
  
"Well, see, up until about five minutes ago, Kellin couldn’t really talk to you, considering that he was unconscious."  
  
"He was  _what_?” What the hell happened?  
  
"Yeah. I found him lying on the floor, completely blacked out. I asked him a couple things when he came to. He’d been, like, inhaling spray paint or something, apparently."  
  
"So he’d been getting high." I remember him telling me about Beau. I remember the way he looked at me when I told him not to get into trouble. He gave me a look that said,  _I already have._  
  
"Yeah, basically," Justin says. "But here’s the thing: Kellin doesn’t really do drugs anymore unless he’s upset about something. And he told me that right before he came back home, he was at your house. So, I’m just curious: What happened there?"  
  
"Justin, no," a voice says in the background. Kellin. "Give me the phone."  
  
Justin sighs, and a few seconds later Kellin says to me, “Vic, don’t blame yourself. Please. And don’t think you have to be careful around me because of what I might do. Okay? Don’t filter anything out. You’re Honest Abe. I’m fine. I swear.”  
  
I don’t know how to respond, so I just say, “Okay.”  
  
"Also, we looked it up—passing out while inhaling something is relatively common, especially if you’re doing it over and over without stopping. Which, uh…I was. So don’t worry about that, either."  
  
Again, I say, “Okay.”  
  
After a pause, Kellin says, “You’re gonna worry anyways, aren’t you?”  
  
I laugh a little. “Yeah.”  
  
"Damn it." But I can hear the smile in his voice. "Okay, well…I’ll see you later."  
  
"Yeah," I say. "Later."  
  
But after we hang up, the warm feeling disappears, replaced by paranoia and guilt.  _I’m_  doing this.  _I’m_  hurting him.  
  
I want to see him even more now, but that’ll probably do more harm than good. Maybe it’s better if I just stay away completely.  
  
I pull out my guitar and strum a few chords, humming to myself. The music calms me down, and I take a deep breath, thinking of nothing else.  
  
Mike pops in a few minutes later with his notebook in his hands. “Hey, what do you think of this so far?” He’s about to read something to me when he looks up and actually sees me. “Oh, no,” he says, closing the door behind him. “Not the moping outfit.”  
  
"I’m not wearing the moping outfit," I say. It’s a lost cause—he can clearly see me wearing the moping outfit.  
  
"Yeah, you are. You’ve even got a sad little pout to top it off."  
  
"I do?"  
  
"Yes." He slams his notebook shut and sits down on the bed. "Why are you wallowing in self-pity?"  
  
"I’m not wallowing in self-pity."  
  
"Bullshiiiiiit," Mike sings. "I am your therapist and I demand you provide me with the motivation behind your wallowing."  
  
“‘Wallow’ is such a weird word.”  
  
He points a finger at me. “Don’t try to change the subject!”  
  
I sigh, throwing my hands up. “Okay, fine. Something happened with Kellin.”  
  
"Uh-oh. What happened?"  
  
"I was a fucking idiot, that’s what."  
  
"Elaborate."  
  
I sigh again. “I got paranoid like I always do, and I pushed Kellin away. And Kellin got upset, and then I found out that he was inhaling some shit and went unconscious. And apparently, he only does something like that when he’s upset.”  
  
"So you blame yourself, then? Because, y’know, not everything is completely your fault."  
  
"I made him do it."  
  
"No, he  _chose_  to do it. And maybe there’s something deeper, too. Something more than just, like, ‘Vic doesn’t like me anymore, boo hoo.’”  
  
I think of something Justin said yesterday:  _What you need to know about Kellin Quinn Bostwick is this: He is absolutely fucking terrified of himself, and from my personal experience, I’ve learned that hate often comes with fear._  
  
With that in mind, I ask, “Do you think he blames himself?”  
  
Mike shrugs. “Well, unfortunately, I’m not a therapist, and I can’t get inside Kellin’s head. But I think it’s a possibility. What I  _do_  know for sure is this: I’m not gonna let you keep moping around. Give me your phone.”  
  
"Uh," I say, handing it to him.  
  
After a minute of going through my contacts, he smiles and calls Kellin. “I’m sending you two off on a date.”  
  
"You don’t have to—"  
  
"Hey, it’s Mike," Mike interrupts, speaking into the phone. "And I hereby order you, Pretty Boy, to take Vic out somewhere. Doesn’t matter where. I’ll cover for him. Yes, now. Later.” He hangs up.  
  
"How are you going to cover for me?" I ask.  
  
"I’m thinking the classic stuffing-pillows-in-the-covers-to-make-it-look-like-someone’s-sleeping-in-the-bed trick. They’ll probably think you’re a lazy asshole, but it’ll work. Now, you’d better get laid this time."  
  
I snort. “I’ll get back to you on that.”  
  
"Good. Because I’ll need you to tell me the whole thing.  _With details_.”  
  
"Pervert."  
  
—  
  
About fifteen minutes later, I hear a knocking on my window and glance over at it, half-expecting to see Kellin in the tree again. This time, though, he has found another method of communication: throwing stones.  
  
I smile to myself as I head over to the window, amused at how cliché it is. What is this,  _Romeo and Juliet_?  
  
Kellin must be thinking the same thing, because when I pop my head out the window and see him standing right below me, he calls, “Hello, Juliet!”  
  
I wave. “Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?”  
  
He smirks. “I’m right in front of you, dipshit. Get your ass down here.”  
  
So out the window I go, landing much less gracefully than I’d prefer and hoping that Mike has the good sense to close said goddamn window. Kellin holds out his hand, and I take it. “Where are we going?” I ask as he leads me down the street. “And where’s the car?”  
  
He points into the distance. Justin’s car is sitting on the side of the road, a few houses away from mine. “I got smart. I’ll be parking father away from now on so your parents don’t see me and flip out. And our destination is a surprise.”  
  
I climb into the passenger seat. “Have we been there before?”  
  
"Yes. No. Maybe. Lobster."  
  
I burst into laughter as he starts the car. “What do lobsters have to do with anything?”  
  
"Maybe I’m taking you to a fancy-shmancy lobster restaurant."  
  
"Could you even  _afford_  a fancy-shmancy lobster restaurant?”  
  
He smiles wryly and shakes his head. “Nope.”  
  
"Hey, that reminds me—where did you get the jacket and tattoos? Or, like, how did you get the money for them?"  
  
After a short pause, he says, “I didn’t. I stole the jacket. And Justin’s cousin is a tattoo artist. She was quite charitable and let me get them for free as long as I promised to keep Justin from turning into a hermit with no friends.”  
  
I just stare at him. “You  _stole_  the jacket?”  
  
The wry smile is back. “I stole it from Jesse after he dumped me.”  
  
Now I laugh. “Are you serious?”  
  
He nods. “Every time I saw him wearing it, I was like, ‘Damn, that’s a sweet-ass jacket.’ So after he broke up with me, I decided to get a little revenge. I’m surprised it’s not too big on me, actually.”  
  
"That’s…you’re incredible," I say. It’s the only word I can use to describe him.  
  
He’s still smiling, but it changes, turning into a soft smile accompanied by a light blush. “Not really. But thanks.”  
  
I want to tell him that he’s wrong, that he is definitely and absolutely incredible. But I don’t, because he will still say that he’s a druggie, a fuck-up. So instead, I take ahold of his hand and wait in a comfortable silence for whatever date location awaits.  
  
Said date location, as it turns out, is somewhere we’ve been before—the park. “Let’s hope I don’t have to threaten anybody this time,” Kellin mutters as we climb out of the car.  
  
"You just jinxed it," I tell him. "Great work, Smart One."  
  
He smiles, putting an arm around me and kissing me on the cheek. “Hey, there’s nobody on the merry-go-round thing over there,” he says, pointing in the direction of the vacant merry-go-round. He raises one eyebrow. “Wanna relive your childhood?”  
  
My first thought is,  _But what will people think of us?_  Then I realize that I am a boy, out in public with another boy, whose arm is around me and whose lips have brushed my skin, and right now I don’t care at all. So I smile back at him. “Sure. Fuck it.”  
  
He lets go of me and takes off in a run. “You’re crazy!” I shout, chasing after him.  
  
Kellin leaps onto the merry-go-round and stands up, grabbing onto a pair of handles as the force of his weight causes it to start spinning around. “You want me to spin it?” I ask, grabbing onto a different pair of handles.  
  
"Yes!" Kellin says. "Go, go, go!"  
  
As I start to turn the merry-go-round, slowly at first but quickly speeding up, I can’t help but wish that Mike was here with us, because I am reliving my childhood. I’m wishing for the days when everything was simpler. Not the bad days—the days when Mike would go into a terrible frenzy or withdraw completely—but the days when he’d lead me around, talking rapidly about an absurd idea that would be forgotten within the next five minutes. The days when we lived in the present, with no worry over past or future. The days when nothing else mattered.  
  
When I don’t think I can get it going any faster, I use the handles to jump onto the merry-go-round with Kellin, who yells, “FUCK YEAH, VIC!”  
  
"THERE ARE CHILDREN HERE!" I yell back, referring to his use of the word "fuck" at a kids’ playground.  
  
"SHIT!"  
  
"YOU DID IT AGAIN!"  
  
"SHIT! I MEAN, CRAP!"  
  
"THERE YOU GO!"  
  
"YOU LOOK REALLY ADORABLE IN A BEANIE, VIC!"  
  
"THANK YOU!"  
  
"I SWEAR I’M NOT HIGH!"  
  
"THAT’S VERY GOOD!"  
  
Then Kellin hops off and takes ahold of the handles again. “Oh, no, you don’t,” he says, his voice now at a more normal volume. “You’re not slowing down on my watch.”  
  
"Are you sure you’re not high?" I ask, trying not to let thoughts of earlier today creep into my brain.  
  
"Positive," he replies, jumping back up.  
  
"Hey," I say suddenly. "Did it ever get lonely, being an only child?"  
  
He shakes his head, not even bothering to ask where my question came from. “For the most part, no. I had other friends, and sometimes just being alone was nice, too. When I got a bit older, I did get a bit jealous of other people’s awesome siblings, but I don’t anymore. I’ve got Justin.”  
  
The merry-go-round is starting to slow down again, but this time, we let it, sitting next to each other on the edge.  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
We both turn our heads to the sound of a kid’s voice and find a young boy, maybe six or seven years old, walking over to us.  
  
"We’re using the merry-go-round," Kellin says.  
  
"I thought big kids didn’t like stuff like that," the boy says, sounding genuinely confused.  
  
Kellin shrugs. “Maybe not. But we do.”  
  
The boy smiles. “Do you think you could spin it for me?”  
  
We stand up. “Sure,” Kellin says, smiling back. “Just tell me when you want me to stop.”  
  
"Okay!" the boy replies, taking our place on the merry-go-round. Enthusiastically, Kellin starts to spin it. For a guy who never had any siblings, he sure seems to like this kid.  
  
"You can stop now!" the boy says, and Kellin lets go, stepping back beside me and smiling even wider.  
  
"I never knew you liked kids," I say.  
  
"Yeah," he says. "I guess I do."  
  
Unexpectedly, I find myself thinking,  _He’d be a great father._  
  
I look down at the ground and smile to myself. Kellin as a father. It’s such an interesting thought.  
  
"What’re your names?" the boy asks as he hops off of the slowing merry-go-round.  
  
"I’m Vic," I say.  
  
The boy smiles. “Oh, yeah. I heard him yelling your name.” He points to Kellin, and I realize that he’s talking about the little screaming match we engaged in while spinning around. “What’s your name?”  
  
"I’m Kellin," Kellin says.  
  
"Kellin?" the boy repeats, eyes widening. "Josh told me about a guy named Kellin."  
  
Kellin and I exchange alarmed glances. All traces of happiness, of peace, are gone.  
  
"He said that Kellin killed a guy," the boy continues. "But it must be a different Kellin. I don’t think you’d do that."  
  
 _Is he talking about our Josh?_  I wonder.  _The one that wants to kill me?_  
  
That question is answered a few seconds later, when a terrifyingly familiar voice calls, “Lucas!”  
  
The boy—Lucas—turns toward the direction of the voice. “Yes?”  
  
Of course it’s our Josh.  
  
He makes his way toward us, and when he sees me and Kellin, everything freezes. Discreetly, Kellin takes my hand in one of his, using the other one to twirl his hair.  
  
"Lucas, some kids are over there looking for you," Josh says, pointing to a small group of kids nearby.  
  
"Oh," Lucas says. "Okay." He waves at us. "Bye!"  
  
Then Lucas walks away to join the other kids, and as soon as he’s out of earshot, Josh takes a step closer to Kellin. “You will never speak to my brother again. If you lay a hand on him…”  
  
"Whoa, whoa." Kellin holds up his hands. "I won’t do anything to him. I swear. I’m not  _that_  cruel.”  
  
After a few seconds of just staring at each other, Kellin puts his hands down and takes a step closer to Josh. “That’s not fair, though,” he says, his entire mood changing. “I care about Vic. You care about Lucas. You’re allowed to hurt Vic. But I’m not allowed to hurt Lucas, if I really wanted to?”  
  
"You already killed my boyfriend," Josh snaps.  
  
"It was an accident," Kellin says through gritted teeth. His hand squeezes mine, though I don’t think he realizes it. "I never wanted to kill anybody. But if you hurt Vic, I’ll catch you. And when I do…well, I’m hoping that God looks away."  
  
They glare at each other for a few more seconds before Josh finally turns and walks away. “Fine,” he calls over his shoulder. “See you in hell.”  
  
I slowly turn to Kellin, hearing his threat in my head. He sounded just like Josh did when he first threatened me: dead serious. For the first time, I understand just how dangerous Kellin can be, especially when he wants to be. And though I don’t want to admit it, I can’t ignore the feeling in my chest, a feeling I’ve never felt around him before. A feeling called fear.


	15. Panic

**Chapter 14 - Kellin**  
  
The kids at school have the right idea, being scared of me. I would be, too. In fact, I already am.  
  
But this fear escalates when I see Vic. He’s staring at me as if he’s just seen a ghost. I want to tell him,  _I didn’t mean what I said to Josh. I just needed him to go away. I’m not that kind of person._  But it’d be a lie—I  _did_  mean what I told Josh. I meant every word.  
  
So instead, I reach out and softly touch his face. “I’m sorry,” I say. “About that.”  
  
He nods, the spooked animal look slowly fading from his features. “Do you think we should leave, or…?”  
  
"Yeah," I say. "Yeah, let’s leave."  
  
So we head back to the car, much less energetic than when we arrived. I want to make a joke of some sort, but I can’t stop thinking about Josh and his brother. So instead I just say, “Do you want me to drop you off at home?”  
  
Vic nods absently. “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be—”  
  
Before he can even finish his sentence, I pull him close and kiss him. He seems startled—and I don’t blame him—but then he reaches behind me and grips my hair, kissing me back just as fast. “I can stop if you want—” I begin, starting to pull away, wondering where the hell that came from.  
  
"No, it’s okay," Vic breathes. "Really."  
  
So we resume our position, my hands on his hips and his around my face and neck. I slowly move my hands backwards, and he takes the hint, climbing over to the driver’s seat and on top of me, straddling my thighs. In between kisses, he’s whispering, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” and instead of asking what he’s sorry for, I just whisper back, “It’s okay, it’s okay.”  
  
His hands move down my back, his tongue tentatively poking out of his mouth and brushing against my lips. He wants to take control, but I won’t let him have it. I slide my own tongue out, meeting it with his more aggressively. He makes a noise—of pleasure or indignation, I can’t be sure—as my tongue wins and enters his mouth.  
  
I start to grind up against him, making him moan louder. He pulls away, rasping, “Are we gonna take this to the backseat?”  
  
"No," I say quickly. "No." Vic’s face falls slightly, so I add, "It’s like you said. There are children here."  
  
That makes him smile—or, at least, it’s a hint of one—even though he knows that if we were alone, I probably would’ve given him the same answer.  
  
"You should go," I say quietly. "I should take you home."  
  
After a pause, Vic replies, “Okay.” He nods. “Yeah. Okay.”  
  
His climb off of me is only awkward at first, but then he makes a move that results in his ass not only banging against the steering wheel, but also honking the horn, which plays that obnoxious trumpet song. “Ow!” he exclaims.  
  
And, despite everything, I find myself bursting into laughter. After a few seconds, Vic does, too, falling into the passenger seat and announcing in between hysterical giggles, “That did  _not_  go to plan!”  
  
Before I know it, there are tears running down both our faces and an actual physical pain in my chest. “I—can’t— _breathe_!” I gasp.  
  
Vic’s laughs start to morph into coughs. “I’m dying,” he proclaims. “Why the hell is this so funny?”  
  
Still hyperventilating, I choke out, “Your ass—honked—the fucking—horn.”  
  
—  
  
Even after we’ve calmed ourselves down enough for me to adequately drive, we’re both still pretty unstable, so we fight to stay silent and keep that silence as solemn as possible. But we all know the unwritten law of the universe—everything is funnier when you’re not supposed to laugh. So it happens that if one of us so much as looks at the other, one of us giggles, and then we’re off again. This happens three times.  
  
But this doesn’t end after I drop Vic off at his house. On the drive back to the apartment, I burst into laughter twice. I am completely alone in the car, and I’m pretty sure that anyone who happens to look inside it thinks I’m insane. Even as I enter the apartment, I’m still laughing a little to myself, which prompts Justin to ask in a very serious tone, “Are you high again?”  
  
"Absolutely," I tell him. "I’m high off of Vic Fuentes fumes. Really intense shit."  
  
I think it takes him a few seconds to remember that Vic Fuentes is a person and not a street name for a drug or a special brand of something. “Oh,” he says. “Alright then.” He smirks a little. “Think I could try it sometime?”  
  
"Absolutely," I say again. "Not."  
  
"Wow," Justin replies, fake-offended. "Asshole."  
  
Unfortunately, this high only lasts the duration of the night. When I wake up in the morning, I have a nearly paralyzing urge to drop a horrendously heavy object onto my head in the hopes that it will snap my neck. I decide to blame it on the fact that it’s Monday, since Mondays generally do seem to evoke a feeling of wanting to snap one’s own neck.  
  
But when I get to school, something is different. Something is different with Vic, to be exact. When I talk to him, his replies are short and generally emotionless. The familiar warmth I tend to feel around him has faded away a bit, replaced by something cold and unusual. He can’t even look me in the eyes for too long.  
  
So I ask him, “Hey—is everything, y’know, okay?”  
  
And this is what gets me: Vic Fuentes, compulsive truther, Abraham fucking Lincoln,  _lies_  to me. Because when I ask him that question, he puts on a brave face that is so obviously fake it hurts, and he says, “Yeah. Yeah, everything’s fine.”  
  
But everything is not fine.  
  
I can understand lying to someone like his parents, but I thought he trusted me. I told him before that he didn’t have to filter anything around me, that he could just be completely honest. He’s forgotten that, it seems. Or maybe he’s ignoring it. Either way, this doesn’t really help with the general I-want-to-snap-my-neck feeling.  
  
The bullying is amped up to a new level today, too, which, though it isn’t very fun for me or Vic, is apparently a very enjoyable pastime for people like Brutus. (Seriously, what  _is_  his real name, anyways? It’s like the Tootsie Pop commercial says: “The world may never know.”) Like always, I’m almost immune save for a few brave souls, but Vic might as well be standing in the middle of the Westboro Baptist Church and shouting, “I’m a homosexual!”  
  
A few times, I end up chasing kids away because I just can’t take seeing them do this to him. Vic still doesn’t say much, but each time, he looks like he wants to. Then he seems to push the desire away, and off we go, to our respective classes with no more words.  
  
By history, I just want to run across the room and confront him. But Mr. Bitters likely would not appreciate that, so I am forced to wait. I’ll do it at dismissal, before he and Mike drive home.  
  
Well, that plan doesn’t exactly work out, considering that I can’t even catch him. He’s so damn fast, and by the time I can chase after him and find his car in the parking lot, it’s already speeding away.  
  
"Damn it," I mutter to myself.  
  
"Hey, Kellin!" Jack calls. I turn around and find him walking toward me and waving. "Justin invited me over," he says, "so I’m walking home with you guys today."  
  
"Can’t you just drive over?" I point out.  
  
He shakes his head. “My car’s being an asshole, so it’s in the shop getting fixed. Gabe picked me up today, and his parents are dragging him someplace later, so it’ll be just you, me, and Justin. Where is he, anyways?”  
  
"We take different routes," I explain, starting to head down the sidewalk that leads to the route I take. "So we don’t normally wait. Justin probably already left. Looks like you’re walking with me."  
  
"Fantastic," Jack says, catching up to me. "So. How’ve things been with you, Kellin Quinn?"  
  
—  
  
When we’re almost at the apartment, Jack happens to glance into an alleyway. “Oh, shit.”  
  
I slow down. “What?”  
  
"Keep going," Jack whispers, walking faster. "Maybe he won’t—"  
  
"Hey, Kellin!" says a familiar, fake-cheerful voice, followed by the cocking of a gun. "Fancy seeing you around."  
  
How the  _hell_  does he always track me down?  
  
In the split second that I pause, I’m evaluating the situation: Josh is alone this time. But he also has a gun, and we don’t.  
  
Then Jack and I take off running, down the empty sidewalk. If Josh shoots, few will hear it, and none will care. The sound of a gunshot for the people who live in this area is like the scent of cow manure for people who live near farms: It’s generally unpleasant, but they’re used to it.  
  
Luckily, there’s a convenience shop up ahead—which is very,  _very_ convenient—so we skid to a stop in front of it and fling the front door open, bursting into the store and making the little bell at the top ring. “Good,” I gasp. “Now we don’t need to make any sort of plan.”  
  
One of the many things I’ve learned on the streets is that if a person with a gun is right behind you, about to shoot you, it is best not to run away in a straight line, but to make your pattern as unpredictable and difficult to track as possible. You may be fast, but if you’re close enough to the shooter, the bullet will always be faster. (This has been a PSA.)  
  
Jack and I turn to the glass windows at the front of the store. Josh is standing right outside them with a smirk on his face. He says something, but the windows mute his voice.  
  
I turn to Jack, lip-reading extraordinaire. “What did he say?”  
  
Jack hesitates. “He said he can wait all day.”  
  
Then Josh shrugs and adds something else.  
  
"But we’re not worth the wait," Jack translates.  
  
Josh says a third thing, before turning and walking away.  
  
"He says that he’s got something else in mind."  
  
 _Oh, God._  My stomach twists itself into knots.  _Oh God oh God oh God._  
  
"He’s after Vic," I breathe.  
  
"He’s  _what_?”  
  
"He’s after Vic!" I snap, my voice coming out even less calm-sounding than I expected it to. My hands are in my hair, violently twisting and turning the strands. "It’s not me he wants; it’s Vic. Because I killed his boyfriend. He’s going to kill mine."  
  
"Okay, calm down," Jack says. I can see him trying to hide his own surprise. "We can fix this. Okay? We can stop it from happening. Whatever ‘it’ is."  
  
I glance over at the counter, realizing that there’s probably a person sitting there and watching this whole scene play out. Turns out, there is: It’s an older guy with big headphones over his ears. He can’t hear a thing we’re saying. He might not even know we’re here.  
  
"Okay," I say slowly, pushing the door back open. "Okay."  
  
I half-expect Josh to jump out from somewhere, laughing at us for believing that he’d left. But he doesn’t, so as we keep walking towards the apartment building, I pull out my phone and call Vic.  
  
"Hey," he says. I try not to note the lack of usual excitement in his voice.  
  
"Vic, can I, like…be with you? Like, right now? I don’t care where we are. I just…I can’t explain. But this is urgent."  
  
"Why? What’s going on?"  
  
"I can’t explain," I repeat. "But I have to be with you. I just…oh, never mind." I hang up.  
  
"Clingy much?" Jack says.  
  
I scowl as we turn into the parking lot. “Shut up. Tell Justin I borrowed the car. I’m gonna drive to Vic’s house. Sorry for abandoning you guys.”  
  
Jack smiles a little. “Well, if I was seriously afraid for my boyfriend’s life, I’d probably want to be with him, too.”  
  
So I unlock the car and hop inside, telling myself over and over again, _You’re just paranoid. Nothing is going to happen. Nothing is going to happen._


	16. Kisses Under Starry Night Skies

**Chapter 15 - Vic**  
  
I should be doing something productive. Instead, I’m wondering what a five-paragraph essay would look like if I wrote it about Kellin Quinn. I’ve already come up with how I’d start it out:  _Kellin Quinn is a wonderful, confusing mess of a human being whose main goal in life is most likely to fuck with my emotions. And it is both a blessing and a curse to have fallen in love with him._  
  
I would probably get points taken off for swearing and using the word “and” at the beginning of a sentence.  
  
I’m having a problem when it comes to Kellin, and the problem is this: All the fear that has been hiding deep inside of me isn’t hiding anymore. It’s here, and it’s paralyzing.  
  
The fear is not just of one thing, either, but of several things. The fear that I’ll fuck up. The fear that I’m not good enough, and that Kellin will one day realize this. The fear that he’ll hurt me physically (though, as far as I know, he’d never do that). The fear that he’ll hurt me mentally (though, again, I don’t think he’d ever do that). The fear that I’ll get too close. The fear that I already have.  
  
I don’t like being so cold to him. In fact, it’s killing me. But as much as I care about him, I’m starting to think that maybe it’s best if we drift away, if we stop this before something bad can happen. It’s a thought that nearly rips me apart, but it’s also a thought I can’t un-think, and it refuses to leave me alone.  
  
"Mike," I call through the bedroom wall. "Can you come over here for a sec? I need a therapist."  
  
A few seconds later, Mike pops in, notebook in hand. He closes the door and sits down on my bed. I can see a partly-drawn sketch on the page that the notebook is open to. (I wish he’d finish one already. I think it’d look pretty good.)  
  
"Yes?" Mike says. "Is this about Pretty Boy again?"  
  
I smile a little. “Maybe.”  
  
Mike changes his voice into that of an announcer. “Unfortunately, Kellic Quentes is experiencing a bit of turbulence out on the sea of OTPs,” he commentates. “However, with the help of Captain Mike Fuentes, we’re sure to be sailing smoothly in no time. And then said captain shall be showered in cake and ice cream for all his hard work, contribution, and dedication.”  
  
I can’t help but laugh. “Oh my God.”  
  
"It’s accurate, though, isn’t it?"  
  
"We are  _not_  showering you in cake and ice cream.”  
  
"Damn it." He props his head up on his hands. "So, what seems to be the cause of this turbulence?"  
  
I sigh. “My own goddamn emotions.”  
  
"Ah, the infamous iceberg of emotions," Mike says. "It has sunk many a ship, and still it stands, strong as ever."  
  
"I hope it doesn’t sink ours," I say. "I’m so…confused. I don’t know what to feel."  
  
"Well, don’t think about what  _to_  feel. Think about what you  _do_  feel.”  
  
And what do I feel? There is, of course, the fear. But there is also something else, the thing that keeps me with Kellin through everything that has happened. Do I dare to say it’s more than a simple attraction or attachment? Do I dare to call it love?  
  
"And now that you know what you feel," Mike says slowly, "what are you going to do about it?"  
  
I think for a moment.  _What will I do? What will I do?_  
  
I pick my phone up. “I’m going to call Kellin back!” I proclaim.  
  
Mike claps. “Yeah! You go!” He turns back to his notebook and continues the sketch, though he doesn’t leave his position on my bed.  
  
Kellin called me a few minutes ago in a panic. I was still ignoring him (regretfully) at that point, so I tried not to get too concerned with why he so desperately needed to be with me. Now, though, I’m about to find out.  
  
My fingers are a millimeter away from pressing the “Call” button when a stone hits my window.  
  
"Never mind," I say, returning my phone to my pocket. "It looks like we’ll be chatting in person."  
  
"Romeo has arrived?"  
  
"He has." I head over to the window and open it up.  
  
Just like yesterday, Kellin is down at the bottom, staring up at me. “Rapunzel, Rapunzel,” he calls, sounding considerably calmer than he did on the phone. “Let down your hair!”  
  
"Okay," I say, "am I Rapunzel or Juliet?"  
  
I can see his smile widen at my response, and it occurs to me that maybe he expected me to dismiss him. After all, that’s mostly what I’ve been doing to him all day.  
  
"Be whatever you want to be," he replies, holding a hand out. "As long as it’s with me."  
  
Well, that’s a pretty smooth pickup line if I ever heard one.  
  
"You might want to wait until after dinner," Mike suggests. "Just in case you’re not back before then, so nobody gets suspicious if you don’t show up."  
  
I nod. “That’s a good point.” Then I turn back to the window. “I can’t until after dinner,” I explain. “My parents will notice I’m gone. But I’ll get into the car right after. I’m assuming you brought the car.”  
  
"That’s fine," Kellin says, giving me a thumbs-up sign. "And, yeah, I brought the car. Parked it at the same place as last time. I’ll be waiting."  
  
Mom and Dad will get suspicious if I make my own dinner too early, so I have to wait until at least around 5:30. The next hour is hell, knowing that Kellin is right outside waiting for me. Mike, who starts at least three other drawings during this time period (and finishes none), makes it more bearable. But before I know it, I’m rushing downstairs and trying to get dinner as quickly as possible while still inconspicuous. My parents don’t seem to notice anything about me until I do something wrong.  
  
Fortunately, today they remain oblivious. I sneak back upstairs, not trusting myself to be able to escape out the front door without getting caught, and open my bedroom window back up. “I’m out of this nuthouse,” I declare, saluting Mike.  
  
He salutes back. “Fantastic. I think Tony and I are gonna go do something tonight.”  
  
"That sounds fun," I say, raising my eyebrows. "You two are pretty good friends, then?"  
  
"Yeah." Mike smiles. "Good friends."  
  
After a short pause, I ask a somewhat risky question: “Is another ship setting sail?”  
  
But Mike just smiles wider. “I think so, yeah.”  
  
Now I smile back. “What’s it called?”  
  
Mike ponders this question for a moment. Then he says, “Mike Fuentes and Tony Perry. I’m thinking Perrentes.”  
  
—  
  
"Mike and Tony are dating!" I announce when I hop into the car.  
  
Kellin looks up from the game he’s playing on his phone. “Really?”  
  
"Yup. And I elect myself captain of this new ship."  
  
Kellin puts his phone away and starts the car. “You’d probably drive them right into an iceberg.”  
  
"Hey!"  
  
"Well, you can’t even get out of the driver’s seat without making your ass honk the horn."  
  
Okay, he has a point. “I’m assuming our destination is once again a secret?”  
  
"You assume correctly."  
  
But it’s not a secret for long—I can tell where we’re going once we reach a certain point. “The field?” I guess, at the sight of the endless grass.  
  
"Ding ding ding," Kellin says, parking the car on the side of the road. "Congratulations. You’ve won a kiss!" He leans forward and pecks my lips.  
  
I smile. “Did you seriously park the car just to do that?”  
  
"Well, I want to do something else, too." He unbuckles his seatbelt and makes his way into the backseat. "Do you think you could drive now?"  
  
"Uh, sure," I say slowly, unbuckling my own seatbelt and hopping into the driver’s spot. "What are you planning to do?"  
  
He climbs onto the center console and opens up the sunroof.  
  
"What are you  _doing_?”  
  
He flashes me a smile that I think is supposed to be reassuring. “I saw them do this in a movie once.”  
  
"They do a lot of things in movies that would get you killed in real life," I tell him.  
  
"Yeah, but I’ve done this before. It’s okay. I’ll wait for you to start driving."  
  
So I drive.  
  
And after about ten seconds, Kellin stands up, his feet on the console and his head through the sunroof. “Holy shit,” I say.  
  
He starts yelling something. At first I think he’s trying to talk to me, but then I realize that he’s not even yelling words; he’s just screaming, for the pleasure of screaming. Then he stops and laughs a little. He sounds so free, so alive.  
  
I can’t see him, but I can imagine him. In my mind, I can see the genuine smile on his face, the childish bliss that I noticed the last time we were here. I can see the wind whipping around him. Maybe his arms are spread out like wings. Maybe he’s got both middle fingers up. Maybe he’s sticking his tongue out.  
  
I can imagine looking at this car from its right side and seeing Kellin’s silhouette in front of the sun, which is setting to my left. Anybody else might think he’s crazy. I’d just want to kiss him even more. Like right now.  
  
"Park the car up here!" he calls. "Left side!"  
  
I don’t know what’s so special about parking on the left side here—maybe he just likes the satisfaction in knowing that he can—but I do as he says, crossing into the wrong lane and parking the car next to the field. “Look how hardcore we are,” I tell him as I hop out. “Parking the car on the wrong side.”  
  
Instead of taking the easier route, Kellin has pulled his entire body up onto the roof of the car and is sitting on top of it. “Much badassery,” he agrees. “Do you want to try?”  
  
"Try what?" Then I realize what he means. "Oh. Uh. No thanks. I’d probably fuck up."  
  
He smiles at me, looking amused. “You really can’t fuck up. Unless you’re super tall. But I’ve never had any problems, and you’re even shorter than I am.”  
  
"I know," I say. "I just don’t really want to do it."  
  
He leans forward slightly. “Would you do it if I was with you? Like, if we did it at the same time?”  
  
Okay, that sounds a bit more appealing. “Maybe.”  
  
He shrugs, hopping off the top of the car. “Alright. Maybe another time, when we’ve got someone else with us, we can do that.”  
  
Then he sits down in the field, facing the sunset, and I do the same. “Hey,” I say slowly. “On the phone. Why were you so…y’know…what was so urgent that you had to see me?”  
  
"Nothing, really," he says quickly. Too quickly.  
  
"No," I reply, "there was something. You did say there was something; just that you couldn’t explain it. But, I mean, didn’t you tell me I didn’t have to hide anything around you? So why do you hide all these things from me?"  
  
Kellin sighs. “Something…happened. And I got really paranoid. So I just…I needed to be with you. Alone. I needed to make sure that you were…” He trails off.  
  
"That I was…?"  
  
"Still alive."  
  
For a moment, I’m not sure what to say, because all I can think is,  _He’s not exaggerating, is he?_  There is an actual risk. I could actually die one of these days.  
  
"Now it’s my turn to ask you a question," Kellin says, briskly changing the subject. "What was—actually, never mind. It doesn’t matter now."  
  
But I know what he was going to ask. He was going to ask what was going on with me earlier. Why I tried to act disinterested in him. “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “It was just…me being stupid and paranoid.”  
  
He nods wordlessly.  
  
"But you’re right," I continue. "It doesn’t matter now." I gesture to the field. "Nothing can hurt us out here. This place is sacred."  
  
That makes him smile. “I wonder,” he says dreamily, “what’s on the other side of this place.”  
  
"We could look at a map," I suggest. "That might give us an idea."  
  
He shakes his head. “I don’t want to know until we actually go there. For now, I just want to imagine it.”  
  
So we do.  
  
I tell him that it leads to a lone cabin in the woods and dead-ends there, while he insists that it morphs into a secret portal to China once you reach a certain point. We bounce ridiculous ideas back and forth, and what starts out as a guessing game with no right answer turns into an intense conversation that lasts longer than I expect. I don’t even notice until Kellin points up at the sky and says, “That’s definitely something you don’t see often in the city.”  
  
I look up as the changes hit me all at once. Somehow, the sun has completely disappeared, the air temperature has dropped considerably, and the dark sky is alive with the light of the moon and stars.  
  
"Holy shit," I breathe. "I…holy shit."  
  
Kellin nods, the childish expression back on his face. “I love looking at this.”  
  
The breeze picks up suddenly, making me shiver against him in the cool night air. “It’s cold,” I say.  
  
Kellin turns to me. “I know what can fix that.”  
  
I can already tell what the answer’s going to be, but I ask the question anyway. “What?”  
  
His mouth quirks up on one side. “This.”  
  
Then he pushes me over so that I’m lying on my back in the grass, and nearly an instant later, he’s kissing me, long and passionate. I knew it was coming, but a soft moan still escapes me.  
  
"There’s a lot more where that came from," Kellin says, his lips only a millimeter away from mine before he reconnects them. I reach up around his neck, my fingers in his hair. It’s a place they seem to love to be, surrounded by glorious black strands, and Kellin’s breath hitches ever so slightly—he loves it, too.  
  
For a moment he stops, but it’s only to rip his jacket off and toss it to the side before he returns to his rightful position on top of me, one less layer separating his skin from mine. He takes my hands in his and pins them to the ground on either side of my head, colliding his lips with mine, so hard that it takes my breath away.  
  
"I missed you," he gasps in between kisses. "I missed you, I missed you so fucking much."  
  
He grinds down on me, and as I let out another small noise, I realize that I am delirious, high on Kellin Quinn Bostwick. I am drunk on the taste and smell and sight and sound and feel of him, and I am thinking,  _Oh my God you are a magnificent human being and I want to make sweet love to you._  
  
Kellin seems to be thinking the same thing, because he pulls away, nods toward the car, and breathlessly asks, “Are we gonna continue this?”  
  
It dawns on me that this is  _my_  choice. He’s asking  _me_. The decision rests in _my_  hands.  
  
Somewhere deep inside my mind, there is that fear that Kellin will hurt me. But it does not make an appearance tonight.  
  
I nod. “Oh my God, yes.”  
  
Without hesitation, Kellin stands up and takes hold of my hand, both of us falling all over each other to get to the car. I open the door, and he practically throws me down onto the backseat before climbing in after me. He sits up, and I crawl into his lap, wrapping my legs around his waist and gripping his thin tank top. So close.  
  
His left hand reaches underneath my shirt, stopping at my back, while his other one grabs the fabric. “Off,” he demands.  
  
Before I have a chance to do as he says, Kellin pulls my shirt off for me. For a terrifying split second, I’m embarrassed, mortified at the thought that my body will never match up to his. Then the shirt is off and discarded, just like his jacket—which is still lying in the field—and his eyes, staring at my chest in a way that I think is good, calm me down.  
  
"Your turn," I tell him, eager to feel skin-on-skin contact.  
  
Kellin takes the fabric of his tank in one hand. “Oh, right. How rude of me.” Then he pulls it up slowly, his gaze locking with mine. He winks.  
  
I want to scream,  _Just take it off already!_  
  
And he does so gracefully, whipping his head back as he pulls the shirt off completely and throws it to the floor. I can already see beads of sweat rolling down the sides of his face and starting to soak his hair.  
  
"Fuck," I whisper automatically.  
  
Kellin smirks a little. Then he pulls me back onto his lap and kisses me again, my hands around his neck and his on my hips, fingering the hem of my pants. I climb back off of him and lower one hand of my own, pressing it against his jeans, just above his hardened length. He nods slightly, so I slowly reach underneath the fabric, and then my fingers wrap around his shaft.  
  
As I move my hand up and down, he sighs into my mouth. I can feel both of us getting even harder by the second. Kellin moans, our lips disconnecting as he throws his head back. Looks like I’m doing something right.  
  
"I’ll…do you now," he gasps, pulling his pants off, leaving him in nothing but his boxer briefs.  
  
He leans his face close to mine again, and with my lips brushing lightly against his, I say, “Please.” I need some relief and I need it now.  
  
But instead of giving it to me, he pushes me down on my back and climbs on top, straddling me. “Wait. You have to beg for it first,” he rasps, his mouth inches from my ear before he nips playfully at my lobe.  
  
"Nev—" My refusal is cut off when Kellin bites my neck, something that I’ve been waiting for him to do. I moan loudly and can’t stop; the friction as he grinds even harder only adds to the effect. "Please," I repeat.  
  
Kellin gives me a kiss on my collarbone, then slowly lowers his body, leaving a line of them as he goes. Then his hands are at my jeans, unbuttoning them and pulling them completely off of me. I think I can see his eyes widen slightly as he stares at the obvious bulge through my underwear. Or maybe I’m just imagining things.  
  
He pulls my boxer briefs off next, exposing my hard length. Before I know it, his tongue is exploring it, and I close my eyes, moaning softly. “Kellin.”  
  
Then his hand is stroking me, too, and I moan louder, arching my back slightly and moving my hips. “Oh my  _God_.”  
  
He separates his mouth from my dick, and I have to bite my lip to keep from begging for more. Then he yanks off his own briefs, smirking again when he notices me eyeing his cock. He’s even bigger than I thought.  
  
"Turn over," he demands.  
  
As I flip myself over, Kellin reaches across the car to the center console, opening it up with one hand and pulling out a lube bottle. After a few seconds’ pause, he cups my ass in one hand and whispers, “Ready?”  
  
"Ready," I say.  
  
Slowly, he slides one coated finger inside of me. This one doesn’t hurt that much, so after a couple of seconds, he slips another finger in, stretching me. I tense up and grit my teeth, because damn, that one hurts a bit more than I thought it would. I bite my tongue and dig my nails into the seat, breathing deeply, as a third finger is added. I know the pain will be worth it, though.  
  
It only takes a few more moments for me to get used to the feeling, so Kellin pulls his fingers out. I can hear him covering his dick with lube before he climbs on top of me.  
  
"Please," I say again, my heart pounding in my ears.  
  
He inserts himself slowly inside of me, pausing to let me get used to his size. The pain subsides quickly, leaving me desperate for action. “Go,” I pant, and he starts moving.  
  
And I mean  _moving_. He links both my hands with his, leaning in close so I can hear his breath in my ear. I buck my hips up as he pulls almost all the way out before ramming back in again. I try not to scream, instead letting out a series of gasps. Kellin groans on top of me as he thrusts in and out, his actions precise and skillful. It’s clear he knows exactly what he’s doing.  
  
When he hits my prostate, I do scream, though I still try to hold it back. “That’s what I like to hear,” he pants, hitting it again.  
  
This time I scream louder, and as he pushes into that spot over and over, I scream again, getting even louder with each slam. One of Kellin’s hands reaches down below, rapidly pumping my cock. “Oh my God,” I gasp, my fingers clutching at the backseat as I shudder underneath him. “Holy f-fuck, yes.”  
  
The double sensation causes all my built-up ecstasy to break out, the streaks of white spraying everywhere as I moan and scream and shout again and again. Kellin comes shortly after I do; his scream is higher than I expected, but it’s still so fucking sexy.  
  
Since there isn’t much room on the seat for both of us, Kellin migrates to the floor. For a few minutes, we just lie there, catching our breath. Then Kellin starts pulling his clothes back on and hands me mine. We end up both staying shirtless, since I feel like I’m drowning in sweat. It’s a good feeling, though.  
  
"Justin’s gonna be so pissed when he finds out we fucked in his car," Kellin says. "I can’t wait."  
  
We both laugh at the thought of Justin discovering stains of a certain white liquid in the back of the car.  
  
"You don’t have any STDs, do you?"  
  
I laugh as Kellin asks the question. “A little late for that. I’ve only ever had sex one other time, though, and that was with a virgin. So I think I’m good. I would’ve told you if I did.”  
  
Kellin nods. “I got tested not long ago. Nothing. We don’t have any condoms in here anyways.”  
  
"Oh, but you  _do_  have lube.”  
  
"Lube doesn’t lose its effectiveness in the heat. Condoms do. I paid attention in health class."  
  
I laugh again. Then, after a short pause, I slowly say, “Kellin…was that good?”  
  
Kellin laughs a little, reaching up and taking ahold of my hand. “Was that _good_? Vic, that was the best sex I’ve ever had.”  
  
I snort. “You’re just saying that.”  
  
He shakes his head. “No, I’m serious. And I think I know why. I think…it’s because I’m emotionally attracted to you, too.”  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Well," he says, "most of the people I’ve ever had sex with…it was just a physical thing. We didn’t really give a shit about each other beyond that. But with you…I care about you. So it was different. It was better."  
  
I can’t help but smile. “Wow,” I say. “I’m not…used to this.”  
  
"Used to what?"  
  
I shrug. “This. Being wanted. I’m not used to being wanted.”  
  
Kellin gets up onto his knees, his face resting right next to mine. He kisses me softly, so softly that I might just be imagining his lips brushing against mine. “Well,” he breathes, “I guess I’ll have to fix that.”  
  
—  
  
We stay there all night and drive to school in the morning, making a quick stop at both our places so we can pick up our backpacks. “We should just take them everywhere in case we end up staying over someplace,” Kellin comments when I exit my house and hop back into the passenger seat.  
  
"My parents aren’t going to be happy when they get home," I say. The sight of my house has made me realize that, once again, I have forgotten to return home from a night with Kellin.  
  
"Whoops," Kellin says, biting his lip guiltily. "We should probably start setting some sort of time for when you get back. We’ve got enough to deal with without adding your parents onto our list of problems."  
  
"They’d be on the list anyways," I say, postponing the issue and deciding not to think about it. "We have a more immediate problem, however: We need breakfast."  
  
—  
  
When we push through the gates to hell—I mean,  _the front doors of the school_ —Mike rushes up to us almost immediately. (The car wasn’t in the driveway, so I’m assuming he just took it and left without me.)  
  
"Hey, Mike," I say. "What’s up?"  
  
"Dude," he says. "Do you have any idea what happened to me last night?”  
  
"Uh, no," I say slowly.  _Something happened to Mike?_  
  
"I got into a car crash."  
  
Kellin and I exchange shocked glances as my eyes widen and I say, “ _What_?”  
  
"I got into a car crash," Mike repeats. "But it wasn’t my fault, I swear! Okay, well, maybe it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t gone driving around in your car in the first place, but still. That’s not the point. I was just driving; I wasn’t doing anything else. I was just gonna go over to Tony’s place. And then this car just crashed right into me, out of nowhere. It wasn’t out of control at all; the person could’ve easily slammed on the brakes or something. But they didn’t. And they hit me, like, perfectly. Like, so nobody in their car would get hurt. And then they jumped out and just left it there, and Josh was there, too—I think the guys who crashed into me were part of his gang—and Josh was, like, smiling. It was so fucking freaky. I could’ve gotten  _killed_. But I was so lucky. They hit at exactly the wrong angle to hit me, I guess. The car’s pretty banged up, but I only got this.” He holds up his arm, which has a large scratch stretching across it.  
  
"That is so fucked up," Kellin says, clearly trying to mask his alarm. "Do you think they did it on purpose?"  
  
Mike shrugs. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t put it past them. I don’t know why, though. I only stole their car that one time, and even then, I was only stealing it back.” At that point, the first bell rings. “Well,” Mike says, “I’m gonna go. Hopefully no one will try to murder me on my way to class.”  
  
As soon as he walks away, Kellin and I turn to each other, and with that one look, I understand everything.  
  
Last night, Kellin said that the reason he needed to be with me was that something had happened. Something that prompted him to make sure I was still alive. Now I’m hearing that Josh’s gang nearly killed my brother. But Mike’s right—they’ve run into him a few times, and they’ve beat him up, but, really, they don’t have much reason to try to kill him. They do, however, seem to want to kill me.  
  
I don’t know how Josh has identified my car, though I’m sure he has his ways. I also don’t know how he possibly could’ve planned to pull this off without luck, without me being at the right place at the right time. What I do know—and I can tell Kellin knows it, too—is this:  
  
They made a miscalculation when they thought they had their chance. They forgot to make sure they really had the right victim.  
  
They were not after Mike at all.  
  
They were after  _me_.


	17. Once a Whore, You're Nothing More

**Chapter 16 - Kellin**  
  
“Why is Vic Fuentes still alive?”  
  
This is the question that Jesse fires at me immediately after dragging me to the privacy of the boys’ bathroom. I fail to answer him, mostly because I’m still in shock and can’t really answer anything at the moment.  
  
After a too-long pause, I say, “Well, why wouldn’t he be?” I’m not quite sure where playing dumb is going to get me, but it’s worth a shot.  
  
Jesse folds his arms across his chest, clearly not in the mood for my shit. “Come on. Josh even mentioned running into you. Don’t pretend you didn’t at least wonder if something was gonna happen to your precious boyfriend.”  
  
I bite my lip. I did a lot more than just wonder.  
  
"Exactly," Jesse says when I don’t respond. "So tell me, Kellin: Why is Vic still alive?"  
  
"I don’t know," I say. "Maybe God didn’t want him to die just yet."  
  
He rolls his eyes. “Okay, let me change that:  _How_  is Vic still alive?”  
  
There’s a question I can answer. “You hit the wrong person, that’s how. Vic was alone with me the whole time.”  
  
Jesse’s eyes widened. “We  _what_? No. That was definitely the right car. It had the same license plate and everything.”  
  
I nod. “Oh, yeah, it was the right car. Just wasn’t the right driver. You hit Mike—who, by the way, got out without a scratch on him anyways. Even if it  _had_  been Vic, he’d still be alive.” After a pause, I add, “Okay, I lied. Mike got out with  _one_  scratch on him.”  
  
Jesse just stares at me. “Are you fucking serious?”  
  
"No, I am not fucking anyone named Serious. I am, however, very serious."  
  
He scowls.  
  
"What was your plan, anyways?" I continue. "Just hope you see Vic on the road at the right place at the right time? Hope you hit him at exactly the perfect angle?"  
  
"Kind of, yeah," Jesse says. "Really, it wasn’t all that set in stone. We just knew that if we saw his car, we’d steal a random one that wasn’t ours and crash it into his. When we saw that car last night, it was sort of just luck. We didn’t even think to check whether or not it was really Vic driving. We just assumed it was." He shrugs. "I’m actually kind of glad he’s not dead yet, ‘cause then it would be pretty much over. And I like this. It’s fun. Y’know, the chase." He takes a step closer, smirking a little. "You understand. You know a lot about the chase, don’t you?"  
  
My hand flies up to my hair. He’s right. His chase is a bit different from mine, but I still know a lot about it. I know how addicting the feeling of adrenaline can be.  
  
"Well, it looks like it’s time for Plan B," Jesse says. "Whatever that is. We’ll figure something out."  
  
He turns around and starts to walk away. “I thought you wanted out of that gang!” I call.  
  
He stops and glances over his shoulder. “Yeah, but they’re a good group to hang out with when you want to kill somebody.”  
  
"You know, killing him isn’t gonna win me back."  
  
"Nothing’s gonna win you back."  
  
Okay, good point.  
  
With that, he leaves me standing alone in the bathroom, thinking about the fact that these guys seriously want to murder someone. Teenagers—they scare the living shit out of me. I’m ashamed to be one.  
  
—  
  
I think more and more people are starting to take the hint—that bullying Vic is not going to go down well with me. The taunting seems to have slightly lessened, but there are a shitload of kids who either still don’t get it or just don’t care. Vic tells me to just let it go and ignore it, and surprisingly, I find myself taking his advice. This might be because I’m too busy focusing on the real issue. These people are nasty, but most of them aren’t murderers—I don’t think so, at least.  
  
 _Well, look at you, hypocrite,_  my conscience says to me in the middle of class.  _Acting like you’re so much better than those so-called murderers._  
  
 _Oh, hello, conscience,_  I think to it.  _I haven’t spoken to you in a while. It was nice. Could you kindly shut the fuck up?_  
  
Unfortunately, my conscience is really just an extension of my thought process, and once I think something, I can’t un-think it. So my conscience does not kindly shut the fuck up. Instead, it says,  _Are you sure you have any right to be angry?_  
  
 _I never meant to kill anyone,_  I respond silently.  _Come on, you should know that. You were there. You’re a part of me._  
  
Some might ask me, “Kellin, does it concern you at all that you have conversations with yourself on a regular basis?” My answer is no. No, it does not.  
  
I think Vic can sense my anger, growing more fierce by the minute, because when we’re hanging out in the history room right before dismissal, he says, “Please promise me you won’t go on a killing spree after I head home.”  
  
"Sorry," I reply. "I can’t promise anything."  
  
"Fine. At least  _try_  not to go on a killing spree, then.”  
  
"I will try," I promise. "How are you going to get home anyway?"  
  
He shrugs. “Mike probably got a ride with a friend or something. I might go with them. I’ll figure something out.”  
  
"Okay," I say as the dismissal bell rings. "Don’t worry about me."  
  
As we separate, Vic shoots me a look that lets me know he’ll be worrying about me anyway.  
  
I head out into the parking lot and hop into Justin’s car. It would probably be nice to wait for Justin instead of forcing him to walk home like he normally does, but then he’d insist on coming with me once he found out where I plan on going, and I can’t let him do that. So I drive away alone, smiling to myself at the thought of what happened in this very car last night.  
  
 _Oh, look,_  my conscience says.  _The Whore has escaped his prison cell. What a surprise._  
  
The smile immediately disappears.  _Having sex doesn’t automatically make you a whore,_  I tell it.  _Shut up. I’ve got a more pressing issue to focus on at the moment._  
  
Charitably, my conscience switches its target of criticism.  _You know, the last time you tried to teach Josh a lesson, you only succeeded in pissing him off even more,_  it points out.  _Are you sure it’s gonna work this time?_  
  
"Nope," I say, out loud this time. "But it’ll satisfy me either way."  
  
I park a few blocks away from HQ, the same way I’ve learned to hide from Vic’s parents. Just like last time, I really don’t know that Josh is actually here—but unlike last time, I want him to be.  
  
I peer in through a side window. There’s no activity on the first floor, so I step in through the front door, listening closely for any sorts of sounds. I’ve only made it a few feet when I hear footsteps coming up the stairs, and a couple of seconds later, Josh pops up through the opening of the trapdoor. He turns his head, raising his eyebrows when he sees me standing not very far away from him.  
  
He doesn’t bother with a greeting. As soon as he’s fully on the first floor with me, Josh says, “Jesse told me Vic is still alive.”  
  
I nod, restraining myself from attacking him. “He is.”  
  
"He said we hit his brother instead."  
  
I nod again. “You did.”  
  
Josh smiles, but it holds not one hint of happiness. “I didn’t think you could understand me through the window.”  
  
I smile back, in the same way. “Jack can read lips. Maybe if you wouldn’t have said anything, I wouldn’t have been able to save Vic. Maybe you would’ve succeeded.”  
  
Josh nods. “Then I’ll make sure that next time, you never see it coming.”  
  
"You do that," I say, with the deceiving smile still plastered on my face. I’m about to step forward, about to punch him or kick him or beat him up or something, when my phone beeps in my pocket. I’ve got a text.  
  
I think about ignoring it, but Josh says, “Looks like you’ve got more important problems to attend to. Thanks for stopping by.” Then he turns around and starts to head back over to the trapdoor.  
  
His civilized façade just pisses me off even more, and I don’t want to waste time answering a simple text when I could be showing him exactly what I think of him, but then I decide to prove that I’m not as violent and short-tempered as I seem. I sigh and pull my phone out, expecting Josh to come back up with a gun or a knife or a lit match—something to destroy me right here and now. But he doesn’t, so I look at the message on the screen:  
  
 _I AM GOING TO CALL YOU LIKE A MINUTE AFTER I SEND THIS TEXT AND YOU BETTER ANSWER ME DAMMIT THIS IS IMPORTANT_  
  
The text is from Justin, and instead of replying, I wait for his promised phone call, which comes a few seconds later.  
  
Part of me thinks it’s just a stupid prank or something. This is the same part of me that’s still begging me to chase after Josh and give him a piece of my mind. But I don’t. I answer Justin.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Kellin," Justin breathes. "Kellin, are you there? Is that you?"  
  
"Uh, yeah. It’s me. What’s the problem?"  
  
"Jack—Jack’s dead."  
  
And all of a sudden, Josh doesn’t matter anymore.  
  
"He’s  _what_? No. No, he’s not. He can’t be. I just saw him yesterday.” Though, come to think of it, he wasn’t in school today. And he doesn’t skip school very often.  
  
"Swear on my life, I just got a call from his parents." His voice is shaking. "And I promised I’d tell you and Gabe. I just—it seems so—where are you?"  
  
I glance back at the trapdoor. Right beneath my feet is Josh Franceschi, but the revenge I planned for him is going to be postponed. “Nowhere,” I say. “I’m coming home.”  
  
I hang up and walk slowly out of HQ, thinking that what just happened was absolutely surreal. Josh didn’t even lay a hand on me. Justin called me and told me one of my best friends is dead. This isn’t right. This isn’t right at all.  
  
The whole drive home (which is quite short), I just feel completely numb. I’m too busy thinking,  _He can’t be dead. He’s not really dead. This is still just a prank. A pretty damn good prank, but a prank. When I get home, Jack will be sitting there on the couch, and he and Justin will be laughing their asses off because I completely believed it, but I won’t care because Jack will be alive._  
  
That is not what happens.  
  
What happens is this:  
  
I park the car and head up to our apartment. I open the door, still hoping to see what I imagined on my way here. But I do not. What I see is Justin, alone, doing nothing.  
  
Okay, that’s a lie—he  _is_  doing something. He is lying on the couch, blankly staring off into space, and breathing. But that’s about it.  
  
"Justin," I say, closing the door behind me.  
  
He doesn’t even acknowledge me.  
  
"Justin," I repeat, louder. "Justin, how did he…?"  
  
After a long pause, he turns his face toward me. “Drug overdose.”  
  
A drug overdose. That’s the fate I always thought would be mine. We all know I’m the worst when it comes to drugs—or, at least, I used to be—and I think that, for the longest time, everyone kept waiting for something like this to happen to me. But it didn’t. It happened to Jack.  
  
"It should’ve been me," I say, sitting down on a lounge chair across from the couch. I shake my head, lost in thought. "I…that’s crazy. He had so much to live for. Do you know who found him?"  
  
"His sister."  
  
This keeps getting worse and worse. Jack’s sister is twelve.  
  
"Oh my God," I say. "It feels so unreal. Like…I don’t even feel anything. I just feel, like…I don’t know. Stunned."  
  
Then I stand up and head back to my room, thinking to myself over and over again,  _Jack is dead. Jack is dead. Jack is dead._  
  
It still feels strange, like I’m just in a movie, and I’ve forgotten all my lines. I call Jack’s home phone, and his mother answers.  
  
"Hello?" Her voice doesn’t really sound like it normally does.  
  
"Um, hi. Mrs. Fowler? It’s Kellin."  
  
"Kellin. Oh, Kellin…did Justin tell you?" Now I realize what’s different: She sounds like she’s been crying.  
  
"Yeah," I say softly. "I just…I needed to hear it from you."  
  
She doesn’t respond, just tries to choke back tears—at least, that’s what it sounds like. “I…I’m sorry,” I say, before hanging up.  
  
And that’s what does it for me—his mother’s grief. That’s what starts to make it all real. I drop my phone onto the side table and punch the wall. “Why him?” I yell. “He was a good fucking person! He had people who cared about him! Why the hell is  _he_  the dead one?”  
  
I fall onto my bed and stay there for a while. But my brain won’t shut up, and eventually, I can’t take it anymore. I stand up and rush out of the room. I’m in need of something to keep me from thinking, and drugs just won’t do the job this time.  
  
"I’m going out," I tell Justin, who merely grunts in response.  
  
The whole drive, my conscience is chanting,  _Kellin, you’re an idiot. Kellin, you’re an idiot. Kellin, you’re an idiot._  
  
And why am I am idiot? Because I am showing up, once again, at Vic’s house, even though I know that his parents are here and it’s probably a stupid move. But it’s my best choice. Well, the best choice that I’m willing to make, anyways.  
  
Again, I climb up the tree, this time a bit easier than the last. When I’m about halfway up, I pull my phone out and call him.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"In about thirty seconds, I am going to appear in front of your bedroom window," I inform him. "Be prepared to let me in."  
  
"Uh, okay," Vic says slowly. "I’ll be right there."  
  
As he hangs up, I pull myself the rest of the way to the branch I used on Sunday. Sure enough, Vic is there, waiting for me, with the window open.  
  
"My mom had to work some extra hours," he says. "My dad’s still here, though."  
  
"Oh. Okay."  
  
After a short pause, he says, “This is gonna sound really rude, but…is there any particular reason why you’re here?”  
  
As I climb through, closing the window behind me, I simply say, “I couldn’t afford not to be.” It’s the truth. There are much more dangerous ways to distract oneself.  
  
And just as I’m thinking that, Vic turns and stares at me in a way that steals my breath. The lights in the room glow at the perfect angle, creating a sort of soft halo around him and making his eyes shine brighter. He shines brighter—brighter than anyone—and even though he is just looking at me, I can’t help but think,  _I have to have him._  
  
What a perfect distraction Vic is.  
  
"Kellin," he says, "I—"  
  
I cut him off by stepping forward and kissing him roughly. He seems surprised but kisses back, his hands already at their usual position around my neck. With one hand on his chest and the other on his hip, I push him backwards onto the bed. He lets out a small noise, caught off-guard, with our lips still locked as I slide my tongue into his mouth. I am in control, and he is letting me do things, like kiss him and touch him and straddle him between my legs, and I am thinking that this is much better than any drug-induced high.  
  
 _Wow,_  my conscience says.  _You’re thinking like the Whore again._  
  
At this same time, Vic pushes his hands against my chest, breaking off the kiss. “Kellin,” he says.  
  
I start biting at his neck, where there is now another hickey, not listening to anything—not my conscience and not Vic—because I am too lost in the smell of his skin and the feel of his body underneath me.  
  
“Kellin,” he repeats, his voice half a moan. And then he says, “Kellin, wait.”  
  
That’s when I realize what my conscience just said.  
  
You’re thinking like the Whore again.  
  
Immediately, I hop off of Vic, suddenly aware of what I’m doing. “Sorry,” I gasp, and I mean it. “I just needed—I’m sorry.”  
  
For a moment we just stare at each other, Vic still on the bed and me standing beside it. “Damn,” Vic says. He gives me a breathless smile. “Well, now I’m  _really_  turned on.”  
  
I give a small, nervous laugh in return.  
  
"Kellin," he continues, "what was that?”  
  
I sigh. “It was me trying to forget that my friend is dead.”  
  
His mouth drops slightly. “ _Who’s_  dead?”  
  
"Jack." I nearly choke on his name. So much for forgetting.  
  
"Holy shit," Vic says softly. "I…oh my God. How did it happen?"  
  
"Don’t know," I lie, turning and making my way to the bedroom door.  
  
"Where are you going?" he calls after me. "My dad might catch you."  
  
"Just to the bathroom," I say. That isn’t a lie, but it feels like one, because I am going to the bathroom not to actually use it, but to look for something.  
  
Closing the door as softly as possible, my eyes scan my surroundings, and it only takes a few seconds for them to land on an object that could be of use to me.  
  
Hairspray?  
  
Yeah, hairspray will work.  
  
Flushing the toilet to mask any strange sounds, I quickly shake up the can of hairspray before putting it to my lips. Thoughts swirl around in my head.  
  
 _Jack’s dead.  
  
Within the next few days, Vic might also be dead.  
  
I’m thinking like the Whore again._  
  
I inhale deeply, knowing that this is exactly what I was trying to prevent, knowing that this is exactly the wrong thing to do, and not caring about either of those two things.  
  
The taste isn’t exactly enjoyable, but it’s worth it for the rush I get. I head back to the bedroom, and once I’m safe from preying fathers, I sit down on Vic’s bed and start to talk to him about everything and nothing. I think he’s still a bit stunned, but for a few minutes, I don’t really care—not about anything.  
  
Unfortunately, what goes up must come down, and before too long, I can feel reality slipping back into my brain. I want another hit, but Vic might get suspicious, so I force myself to live with the comedown.  
  
"Uh, Kellin?" Vic says suddenly. "Do you get mood swings often?"  
  
"Not really," I reply, and after the words are out of my mouth, I realize that he already is suspicious. He knows I was getting high on Sunday. He knows I have a dealer. Really, it’s not that much of a stretch to guess that I was at it again just five minutes ago.  
  
"Kellin, I’m sorry," he says, taking my hand in one of his.  
  
"It’s okay," I say, tilting his head up with my finger underneath his chin. Maybe it’s the Whore speaking, or maybe it’s just the fact that the high is gone and I need some other fix to keep me from thinking about the bad things, or maybe it’s just that I really do enjoy it when our lips are pressed together, but something is making me want to kiss him again.  
  
And this time, Vic nods slightly. “It’s okay,” he says, repeating my words back to me. He smiles a little. “I want it this time.”  
  
Now I think I’m supposed to close the distance, but I am paralyzed, so Vic does it instead. His lips are tentative yet welcoming, and I kiss them, for once in my life, carefully.  
  
My conscience is saying something—as usual, trying to guilt-trip me—but I don’t pay attention to it. I am too busy kissing my boyfriend as his hands slowly roam beneath my clothes. In fact, I am so busy doing this that neither of us notice something we definitely should be noticing.  
  
Actually, we  _do_  notice it—you know, after the bedroom door has already swung open.  
  
 _Kellin, you’re an idiot._


	18. How Long Can We Keep This Up?

**Chapter 17 - Vic**  
  
“Didn’t I tell you to stay out of our house?”  
  
Kellin and I pull away from each other. I want to say something, but I’m frozen, so Kellin speaks for me: “No. You told me to  _get_  out of your house. You didn’t specify that I had to  _stay_  out.”  
  
This might not be the best time for your logic, Kells.  
  
"Well, I’m specifying now." Dad steps forward, his fists clenched. "Get out and  _stay out_.”  
  
Kellin stands up. “Okay, okay. I’m guessing there’s no way to prove to you that I’m not any sort of bad influence and that I really should be allowed to make out with your son as much as I please. Am I right?”  
  
"What I’m seeing right now already gives me all the proof I need," Dad says, in that tone of voice that lets everyone know his mind is made up. "You can’t follow any kind of instructions. You deliberately disobey every order that’s been given to you."  
  
Kellin slowly backs up to the window. “Excuse me, but you told me to _leave_. Look. This is me. Leaving.  _Following your instructions_.” His gaze shifts to me, still sitting on the bed. “Bye, Vic.” Then, just like last time, he simply opens the window and casually hops out of it, as if this happens on a regular basis.  
  
Dad turns to me, fists still clenched. I’m not too nervous about those clenched fists—the words they throw at me may sting, but in all my life, neither of my parents have ever used physical force on me or Mike. I never thought of that fact as being subject to change.  
  
But it seems I’m wrong, because then Dad strikes my face in an open-handed slap. I let out a small whimper, then clap my hand over my mouth. I can’t show pain, not to anyone.  
  
"I’m sorry," Dad says emotionlessly. "I never wanted to hurt you. But you gave me no other choice."  
  
 _But, see, you’ve already hurt me plenty of times. Your words hurt._  I don’t tell him that, though. It doesn’t matter.  
  
"I don’t give a shit if you’re gay," Dad continues, "but you will not be hanging around with the likes of  _that_.” He nods to the window.  
  
I try to tell myself,  _He’s just being overprotective. He just thinks Kellin’s bad for me and wants to keep me safe._  But, really, I stopped deluding myself with these kinds of thoughts long ago.  
  
Then Dad asks, “Were you with him last night?”  
  
I expected an immediate confrontation as soon as I got home from school today, but it didn’t come. I guess he was waiting until later. Surely he knows about the wrecked car.  
  
"Because last night I heard Mike sneak out when he thought I was asleep," he says. "And I checked your room, and you weren’t there. I called Mike, but he wouldn’t pick up, and a few hours later, he came home and told me about the car crash. I thought you might’ve been with him, but you weren’t. So tell me: Why did Mike drive when he isn’t even allowed to? Why did he sneak out? Why did he crash?"  
  
These types of questions I always get right. “Because I wasn’t there to stop him?”  
  
"Exactly. And why weren’t you there? Why weren’t you even  _here_?”  
  
I sigh. “Because I happened to be elsewhere at that particular point in time.” I think Kellin’s starting to rub off on me.  
  
Dad raises his eyebrow at me, as if to say,  _And…?_  
  
"Elsewhere with Kellin," I add in defeat.  
  
He nods. “And now your car is wrecked, and your brother almost died.”  
  
"I  _know_ , okay?” I snap. “I know I caused all that.” I’m not lying, either—that crash has been added onto my long list of Things That Are My Fault.  
  
After a pause, Dad drops a small piece of paper on my side table. “The bastard left this the other day,” he says. “For me and your mom, I guess. Whatever it is you see in him, you’d better stop seeing it. Because if you don’t, I’ll make you.” With that, he spins around and storms out of my room, slamming my door shut.  
  
I can’t stop myself from wondering what he’ll do. Normally, he and Mom just kind of yell at me until they decide that I’ve got the message, or that I’m not worth yelling at anymore. I seem to be crossing some lines now, though.  
  
I reach over onto the side table and unfold the piece of paper. It isn’t addressed to anyone. It just says:  
  
 _You know, I could’ve smashed your windshield. But I didn’t. That counts for something, right?  
  
…Yeah, I didn’t think so either.  
  
—you know who  
  
P.S. Your son is a phenomenal kisser. You should appreciate him a little bit more._  
  
I smile at the last part. I never really thought of myself that way before.  
  
The window is still open, and a few seconds after Dad leaves, I hear Kellin’s voice call from down below: “Hey! I’m coming back up!”  
  
Before I can stop him, he’s making his way back up the tree. But this time, I’ll make sure he doesn’t get too far. I have to.  
  
Folding the note back up and putting it into my pocket, I stick my head out the window, meeting Kellin face-to-face as he situates himself on his familiar branch. “You can’t,” I tell him. It hurts, because in reality, I just want to run away with him and leave everything behind.  
  
"Why not?" I think he tries to hold them back, but sure enough, his fingers find themselves tangled in his hair.  
  
"Because I can’t risk this again. Did you hear my dad? The next time we get caught like this, we’re dead."  
  
Kellin sighs. “I know. I’ll stop coming over if you want me to, okay?”  
  
I nod. “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be good.”  
  
After a pause, Kellin says, “I heard him slap you.”  
  
Automatically, I touch the side of my face. It still stings, but only slightly.  
  
"Does he do that often?"  
  
I shake my head. “He’s never done it before. Not once.”  
  
"Would you be offended if I said I hated your parents?"  
  
I think about that for a moment. Then, truthfully, I say, “Not really.”  
  
"Okay, then. I fucking  _hate_  your parents.”  
  
We both laugh a little, and then I realize what he’s doing, though I don’t know if he himself realizes it or not. “Hey,” I say, growing serious again. “You’ve gotta get out of here. You can’t hang around. No pun intended.”  
  
The branch that he’s resting on makes a loud crack, as if agreeing with me. “I know,” he says.  
  
"And I don’t know about doing anything together tomorrow," I add before I can stop myself. "I don’t know if we can even keep this up. If we should."  
  
Kellin just stares at me for a few seconds. “Keep what up? Us? This relationship?”  
  
My throat nearly closes up, but I choke out, “Yes.”  
  
How painful it is, sometimes, to tell the truth.  
  
"Well…" He looks away, then glances back up at me. "Do you  _want_  to keep it up?” He’s practically ripping his hair out at this point, but he still looks me straight in the eyes.  
  
"Yes," I repeat, two thoughts warring inside me:  _I have to end this_  and  _I can’t_.  
  
Kellin gives me a small smile. “Then we keep it up.” With that, he removes his hands from his head and starts to climb back down the tree. He waves at me when he reaches the ground, and I wave back, watching him leave.  
  
I stay at the window long after he’s gone. For the first time, my doubts seem official, looming over my head like the warning of a storm. I can’t stop myself from wondering,  _Can we really keep this up? Is it even worth it? Is anything worth it?_  
  
—  
  
Kellin is not in school the next day.  
  
At first I think that this has something to do with me, that his absence is somehow my fault. It seems like the only reasonable explanation, since everything is always my fault, and I can’t help but drown myself in guilt for whatever I did.  
  
Then, at the beginning of the day, an announcement is made. It’s an announcement that breaks to us the news of Jack Fowler’s death, and it makes me realize that, no, this probably has absolutely nothing to do with me. One of Kellin’s closest friends just died. Of course he’d want a day off. I know I would.  
  
Unfortunately for me, kids are braver now that Kellin isn’t here to intimidate everyone. People who have backed off before because of him are ganging up on me. They’re even poking fun at the fact that they now have the freedom of fearlessness. “Where’s your boyfriend?” they taunt. “Not here to protect you now, huh?”  
  
 _All I have to do is make it through the day,_  I tell myself.  _Then this will be over. Just ignore them._  
  
This strategy works pretty well until right after lunch. I’m just speed-walking down the hallway, hoping I can get to calculus in one piece, when a pair of hands grab me and pull me to the side. I open my mouth, but one of the hands clamps over it as I’m dragged into a supply closet.  
  
"Who’s gonna save you now, faggot?" a voice snarls. I’ve probably heard it before, but I can’t match it with a name or face. I can only tell that the person is a guy, and that he is one of the many kids who can easily overpower me.  
  
What would Kellin do if this were happening to him? He’d fight back, meanwhile commenting on how cliché it was to use a supply closet, of all places. But I am not Kellin, and I don’t have that kind of bravery, so I just struggle in the guy’s grip and pray that this will be over soon.  
  
He whacks my head, knocking me to the floor and kicking me on my way down. Then he grabs me by my hair and pulls me back up, only to slam me against the wall. I’ve been trying to push him back and make a break for the door, but all my attempts are in vain—my inner badass, if I even have one, has seemingly withdrawn, never to see the light of day again.  
  
So I close my eyes and stop trying to defend myself, any leftover fight leaving me. Once again, I am useless, even when it comes to helping myself.  
  
—  
  
When I open my eyes, nothing makes sense and everything hurts. For a moment I think,  _Oh. So this is what being dead feels like._  Then it all comes back to me: Someone just beat me up. I am still in the supply closet, left here by my attacker. I must’ve been knocked unconscious.  
  
Slowly, I pull my phone out to check the time. It’s 3:30 in the afternoon—I have just missed dismissal, which means that Mike and Tony (who drove us both to school this morning) have probably already left. How the hell has nobody found me by now?  
  
My phone rings in my pocket. Pulling myself up into a sitting position and leaning my back against the wall, I answer it. “Hello?”  
  
"Vic!" It’s Mike. "Where are you? Tony and I are sitting out here waiting. This is the third time I’ve called you."  
  
I grit my teeth. The pain is everywhere. “I, uh…I’m in a supply closet.”  
  
"In what?”  
  
So briefly I tell Mike what just happened, forcing myself to stand up and exit the closet. It’s so strange to be in school after everyone else has already left, and I try to find the front door as quickly as possible so I don’t run the risk of having to explain to anyone what, exactly, it is that I’m doing here and why, exactly, I am bleeding in a bunch of places.  
  
Mike, predictably, is pissed. As soon as I find Tony’s car and hop into the backseat, he hangs up the phone and turns around, proclaiming all sorts of revenge plans. Most people would probably be aware of the fact that 99% of these plans are pretty much impossible to pull off and will forever stay fantasies. Mike, however, seems to firmly believe that this is not the case. In the end, I decide to just let him talk himself out until he gets distracted.  
  
Our parents aren’t here when we get home—their working hours are incredibly irregular sometimes—so Mike invites Tony to stay over for a little while. Luckily, Tony knows a bit of first aid, so for a while he just patches me up and talks to me. He’s actually really quiet and mellow, so it kind of confuses me why he’d be interested in someone as unstable—I love the guy, but you can’t really deny that—as Mike. Then again, they do say that opposites attract.  
  
Once that’s all over and done with, I go up to my room and call Kellin. He answers on the first ring. “Vic?”  
  
For a moment, I debate on whether or not to tell him. Then I remember that he told me not to keep anything from him, so I say, “I, uh…I got beat up in school today and ended up lying unconscious in a supply closet for hours.”  
  
There’s a short pause on the other end. Then Kellin says, “Who do I need to kill?”


	19. I've Killed So Many Times

**Chapter 18 - Kellin**  
  
There are many things that piss me off. Some of them are trivial, such as collared shirts or the bent cover of a paperback book. Other things, such as intentional harm to Vic Fuentes, are not taken so lightly.  
  
Unfortunately, I can’t do much about it, since it seems Vic is unable to recall any defining features of the dickhead who beat him up. He doesn’t even know if this guy has fucked with either of us before. He just knows that it most likely wasn’t Brutus (Vic doesn’t know his real name, either, so now it looks like we’re both calling him that) because he probably would’ve recognized something about him if it was. So now it is Thursday, the day after he called me, and I am at school, suspiciously observing anyone who might be the person I’m looking for. (This means pretty much everyone.)  
  
Vic isn’t here; he’s staying home to rest. That move may or may not have been suggested by me. Let’s just say that I thought he needed a day off, especially after what happened to him.  
  
My mind fools itself into thinking that Jack is still alive. It does this by acting as if Jack is only out sick—I find myself trying to gather updates for him from each of his classes, before realizing all over again that it doesn’t mean a damn thing.  
  
I’m not sure which is easier: grieving at home or grieving at school. When Justin and I stayed home yesterday, it was almost unbearably grim most of the time. I couldn’t wait to get back here and distract myself. But now that I’m actually at school, I find that I still can’t. It’s just that now I’m surrounded by people who are moving on with their lives as if nothing has happened because they hardly knew him.  
  
I decide that the best way to distract myself from the crushing reality that can’t be fixed is to think about the crushing reality that  _can_  be fixed: the fact that one of the bastards in this school has beat up my boyfriend and is walking around with no consequences. I tell myself that I’m not a very violent person, but thoughts like these make me think differently.  
  
Do I care? At the moment, no.  
  
All I care about is finding the person who’s guilty. Never mind the fact that that’s highly unlikely—logic is not with me today. Maybe it’s gone on vacation. So I find myself firmly believing that whoever hurt Vic is not going to go unpunished.  
  
Some may ask me, “Kellin, do you realize that vigilante justice might not be the best route?” My answer is yes. Yes, I do realize this. But again, do I care? Not really.  
  
Today is a lot less eventful than it usually is bullying-wise; as usual, I’m mostly untouchable, and Vic’s not here to be picked on, so there really isn’t much conflict that I’m involved in. It’s a nice feeling, to be able to walk down the hallway in peace.  
  
I tell Gabe and Justin about what happened to Vic, and they try to talk some sense into me. They tell me what I already know in the back of my mind: that I am not going to easily be able to get revenge if I don’t even know who I’m getting revenge on. They know me, though, and they know that their words are falling not on deaf ears, but on ears that can hear and refuse to listen. So in the end, Gabe just says, “Do what you want,” and Justin tells me, “If you find that asshole, kick him where it counts for me.”  
  
I’m really glad I’m not deaf, too, because if I was, I wouldn’t have heard what I hear as I walk into history: “Don’t worry, man. It was dark in that closet, and it was over quickly. They’ll never figure out it was me.”  
  
Well,  _that’s_  interesting.  
  
I linger near the doorway, knowing that I’ll be able to hear the conversation better here than at my seat, since they’re on the other side of the room from where I sit. One guy is saying to the other, “You’re sure? Nobody knows it was you?”  
  
"Nobody except you. Now shut up before someone hears us talking."  
  
That’s  _very_  interesting.  
  
Very  _convenient_.  
  
Is this the person I’ve been looking for?  
  
I guess I’ll have to find out.  
  
I swear to God, a class has never gone slower than this history period is going. Every minute is the equivalent of ten months. I’m starting to think I’ll die of old age before I get out.  
  
Finally, though, it does end—cue angelic sounds—so I trail the guy who might be Vic’s attacker out of the school, trying to figure out how I’m going to be able to get him alone. I’m hoping that he walks home like me, but no—he hops into a car and starts to drive away.  
  
I take a step forward, not sure where I’m going or how I’ll confront the guy now, when someone grabs me by the jacket and drags me backward.  
  
"Whoa!" I spin around, whipping my knife out as I come face-to-face with a guy I’ve seen before but don’t know the name of. The parking lot has cleared out, so it’s only the two of us.  
  
The guy seems surprised at the sight of the knife, but he puts on a brave face and slams me against the wall. “Whoa, whoa!” I repeat, trying to act casual. “Easy there. What’s the problem?”  
  
"You know what the fucking problem is," the guy snarls, punching me in the face.  
  
The world starts to spin, but I still raise my right hand and hold the knife up. “No, I really don’t,” I say. “But I  _do_  know that I’m not afraid to use this.”  
  
The guy grits his teeth but doesn’t make another move. “I know you’re not,” he says. “You proved that four months ago.”  
  
 _Oh, shit._  All of a sudden I know exactly what this is about.  
  
"That was an accident," I say in an attempt to block out the memories. "Look, I don’t want to hurt you. I won’t if you let go of me."  
  
He tries to glare at me, but I can see the fear behind it. After a few seconds, he sighs and lets go, taking a few steps back. “God, why do you have to be so fucking scary?”  
  
I raise my eyebrows in surprise. I’ve never thought of myself as scary. Intimidating, maybe, but not scary.  
  
"Am I really?" I say, still acting completely casual. "Is it the jacket? It’s probably the jacket. Or maybe it’s the tats."  
  
"It’s what you did," the guy says. His voice is menacing, but it shakes. He looks away, and under his breath, I hear him mutter, "It was so much easier to beat Vic’s sorry ass…"  
  
I step forward. “ _What_  was that?”  
  
His head snaps back up to look at me. Before he can protest, I’ve grabbed him by his arm and spun him around, pinning him to the wall the way he was doing to me a few moments ago. My free hand holds the knife back up. “ _Whose_  ass did you beat?”  
  
"Y-your boyfriend’s," he stammers, too scared to try to lie.  
  
"When?" I demand.  
  
"Yesterday," he chokes out. "In a supply closet. I d-don’t know what I was thinking. But Jack dying reminded me of what you did to my sister, and I was just so mad that I wanted to hurt you. So I hurt Vic, b-because I know you hate that. I thought you’d come after me, and when you didn’t, I confronted you, just now…but now I remember how fucking scared I am of you and I can’t do it."  
  
So the guy I heard in history was talking about something else. This idiot is the one I’ve been looking for, and even though he’s clearly afraid, I can’t say I feel that much sympathy. Most people are generally afraid when someone threatens them with a knife. Especially if they know what that person can do with it.  
  
"I’ve seen you before," I say. "You’re one of the kids who taunt Vic in the hallway. You’re one of those people who call him a faggot and tell him he’s worthless. And now here you are, acting so righteous." I don’t use the knife, but I do return the punch he gave me, only harder, judging by the crack I hear.  
  
"Please," he says. "Don’t do to me what you did to her."  
  
"Oh, I won’t," I say, grabbing him and slamming him roughly back against the wall. "As long as nothing like this ever happens again. Actually, you’re a pretty popular guy, right?"  
  
He nods slowly.  
  
"Tell all your friends, everyone you know, even people you don’t know—tell them that they’d better not so much as  _speak_  to Vic the wrong way. You know why. Think you can do that for me?”  
  
He nods again, faster. “Yes. Yes, I can do that.”  
  
I let go of him and step back, slipping the knife back into my pocket. Then I remember something Justin said earlier, so I do as he told me and kick the guy right in the crotch. He doubles over, groaning.  
  
"That was for Justin," I say. "You’re a coward, you know that? Hurting kids like Vic because you know they won’t fight back, and then getting all scared when you have to face the likes of me. Fuck you."  
  
I turn around and storm away, down the route I usually take to get home. I pull my phone out and call Vic—I have to talk to him. I have to tell him something I’ve been hiding from him, something that guy brought back into my mind.  
  
"Hello?" he says. "Kellin?"  
  
"Vic," I say. "How are you doing?"  
  
"Uh, I’m not bad. I’ll be back tomorrow. How about you?"  
  
"I found the kid who beat you up," I say.  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yeah. He was mad at me about something. It happened a while ago, so I don’t think you know about it."  
  
"Oh…well, what was it?"  
  
I sigh. “That’s what I was calling about. I know I promised I wouldn’t come over to your house anymore, but I want to tell you it in person.”  
  
"Why?"  
  
I smile a little, though he can’t see it. “So you can’t hang up on me.”  
  
He laughs. “Well, actually, neither of my parents are home right now. So, I mean, I guess you could come over for a little…”  
  
"Yes!" I say. "I’ll be right there."  
  
—  
  
My mood turns from happy to anxious pretty quickly, though. I don’t want to tell him this, but I know that I should. Plus, maybe getting it out will release some of the guilt that I’ve pushed away for the past four months. I was doing a decent job of it, too, but then that guy had to remind me all over again of an incident I’ve been trying to keep under wraps.  
  
I don’t bother with the tree this time, since I have no one to hide from. Vic told me he was going to unlock the front door, and sure enough, when I get to his house, I’m able to just walk in without any trouble. Mike is sitting at the kitchen table, scribbling furiously into a notebook.  
  
"Hi, Kellin," he says without looking up. "Vic’s in his room, as usual. Hey, how does this look?" He holds up the notebook, pointing to a partly-drawn sketch of a person. Since it’s not done yet, I can’t tell who it is—if it’s even supposed to be anyone specific—but it’s impressive anyways.  
  
"It looks really good," I say truthfully. "Think you’re gonna finish it?"  
  
"Definitely." He sets it back down and continues working, and I head upstairs.  
  
Vic is playing some random melodies on his guitar. When I walk into his room, closing the door behind me out of habit, he looks up and smiles. “Hey,” he says, setting the guitar down. “So, what did you…you know, what did you want to talk to me about?”  
  
I sigh and sit down next to him on his bed. “Well, I know you’ve been wondering for a while now…why everyone in this school seems to be afraid of me.”  
  
He nods, raising his eyebrows and looking at me with interest. I clasp my hands together in my lap and stare at them.  
  
"When I first moved to this school," I begin, "there was a girl. Her name was Jenna, and she was part of Josh’s and Oli’s gang."  
  
Vic catches onto the right word. “Was?”  
  
I nod. “I told you about how after Jesse and I broke up, I stole his jacket? Well…I stole a little bit more than just his jacket. He got involved with that gang, too—he’s still in it, actually.”  
  
Vic’s eyes widen. “Really?”  
  
I nod again. “Yeah. He was actually in the car that crashed into Mike, I think. But I, uh…I stole about eight hundred dollars from them.”  
  
“ _What_?”  
  
"Yeah. I was stupid for thinking I could get away with it."  
  
"How do they even  _get_  all that money?”  
  
I shrug. “Drug dealing. Probably the best way to get cash in this shithole. So, yeah, I stole the jacket and the money, and of course Jesse knew it was me. That’s how I got involved with the gang in the first place. That’s how this whole rivalry started. So they sent someone out after me, and who did they send? Jenna. They thought she alone could do it, for two main reasons: One, I was more of a wimp back then. Two, Jenna was a fucking badass. She confronted me, demanded I give the money back, and I did the dumb thing and refused. So we both got our knives out and started fighting. And, well, long story short…” I take a deep breath. “I killed her.”  
  
For a moment there is only silence. Then, softly, Vic breathes, “Kellin.” I don’t think he knows what else to say.  
  
"I didn’t mean to," I say, closing my eyes in an attempt to shut out the memories of Jenna’s blood on my hands. "It just happened. I knew I had to cover it up, but I didn’t know how to hide a dead body, so I called an ambulance and said she’d stabbed herself. I thought maybe they could save her, but it was too late. The gang knew what actually happened, and that’s when they really started targeting me. For a while, her brother was chasing me down, too. He’s the one who beat you up yesterday. Most of the kids at school know now, because of him—or they at least know that I had something to do with it—but I’ve never gotten into any legal trouble because of a lack of evidence. And they’re all so fucking terrified that if they do something to piss me off, I’ll go after them, too. I think they think I’m crazy."  
  
After a pause, Vic rests one hand on the side of my face. “Kellin,” he says. “Kellin, look at me.”  
  
I look at him.  
  
"You’re not crazy," he says. "You’re just a person."  
  
And that’s one of the fucking bravest things he has ever done—to look me, a killer, in the face and tell me that I am human and that I make mistakes, too.  
  
"I love you, you know that?" I blurt.  
  
He stares at me like that’s the strangest thing he’s ever heard. “Well,” he says, “I know now.”  
  
I lean forward slightly, but the sound of footsteps growing louder stops me from going any farther.  
  
"Shit, I think someone’s home," Vic mutters. I jump off the bed and slide into his closet, quietly shutting the door. It smells like him in here, and as I’m surrounded by all his clothes, I inhale deeply.  
  
A few seconds later, I hear the bedroom door open and Vic’s mom say, “So you didn’t go to school today.”  
  
Vic clears his throat. “I’m  _injured_ , Mother,” he says, almost condescendingly. I think I’m rubbing off on him.  
  
Instead of yelling at him, his mom says, “Think you’ll go back tomorrow?”  
  
"Yes," he replies. "I was just, uh, taking a day off. Though, for what it’s worth, Mike can probably fight off threats five times better than I can."  
  
Whoa. That’s not something he does often. He could’ve just said he was taking a day off and left it at that, but he didn’t.  
  
"I can see that," his mom says, and I know she’s talking about the various bruises scattered along his skin from yesterday. After a pause, she adds, "But you and I both know, Vic, that he can’t fight threats coming from himself."  
  
Another pause. “I know,” Vic says, softly. The defiance is gone from his voice. “Before you say this is my fault…before you say it’s all my fault…I know.”  
  
The sound of him saying that hits me like a physical blow. It takes everything in me to stay rooted to my spot, not making any noises or movements. I don’t hear the rest of what they’re saying because I’m too busy replaying his words in my mind, but soon enough, he says, “Kellin. You can come out now.”  
  
I open the door slowly. “Mom, Dad, I’m gay,” I announce as I (literally) come out of the closet. Vic laughs, but it’s only halfhearted.  
  
"Vic," I say, sitting back down on the bed. "She’s wrong. And so is your dad. They’re wrong about everything. It’s not your fault, okay? Nothing is your fault."  
  
He looks away and doesn’t respond.  
  
"I need you to believe me," I say.  
  
After a pause, Vic looks up. “You’re so fucking incredible.”  
  
There’s that word again: incredible. I don’t believe it, but he keeps saying it, and he’s Honest Abe. “Really?” I say. “Even with…what I just told you?”  
  
He shrugs. “Well, yeah,” he says, as if it’s obvious. “You didn’t mean it. I know you didn’t. We all fuck up, don’t we? It’s just that some of our fuck-ups are bigger than others.”  
  
I just stare at him, amazed and nearly speechless. “You know,” I say slowly, “your parents should really fucking appreciate you.”  
  
With that, I lean forward. This time, nothing stops me from closing the distance.  
  
I kiss him softly, and he kisses back even softer yet, his lips just barely skimming mine. I brush my tongue along his bottom one, and he opens his mouth just enough for me to slip it inside. Vic tilts his head upward, slightly deepening the kiss as my hands shift from his face to his waist. My eyes are closed, but the way he starts to move his body lets me know that he wants to go farther.  
  
Angling myself backward so I’m resting against the headboard, I pull him into my lap. I start to kiss him harder, holding him tighter as he begins grinding down against me. He’s making himself moan into my mouth, and it only gets louder when I tangle my fingers in his hair and press him even closer to me.  
  
His lips move faster—I can feel us both heating up quickly. Through our jeans, he keeps rubbing our erections together, and I can’t help but let out a small sigh, my tongue still in his mouth.  
  
"Kellin," he says, pulling away slightly. "Are we gonna…y’know, do this?"  
  
"We don’t have to if you don’t want to," I reply breathlessly.  
  
He shakes his head. “No, I do. It’s just…” He trails off, and I can see his gaze flit to the bedroom door.  
  
I take a quick glance in that direction. “I’ve done it in riskier situations,” I say, running my fingers along the fabric of his jeans, “and I never got caught.”  
  
My hand brushes against a small bruise. “Wait,” I add. “What about…?”  
  
Vic shrugs, his lips still inches away. “What, the bruises from yesterday? I don’t care about them.” He seems to really mean it—he’s not saying that just to please me.  
  
"Do you want to?" he asks. He’s so close, his breath in my ear. I can’t resist him.  
  
I don’t answer him with words. I just pull him back into my lap and slip my hand down his pants.  
  
He’s already hard, and I can feel him get even harder at my touch. I stroke him slowly, and he sighs, quiet at first but growing louder and more frantic as I move my fingers faster. “Oh, God,” he breathes, closing his eyes and squirming a little. “Please.”  
  
His begging turns me on—maybe a bit more than it should—so I nod and remove my hand, taking both of his and positioning them at the hem of my jeans. He shakes his head, and I think I can see the hint of a smirk on his lips as he kisses me again, blatantly denying me the relief I crave. Now  _he’s_ the one teasing  _me_.  
  
 _Hell no._  
  
With our lips still locked, I push him off of me and flip him over, swiftly positioning myself on top of him. He breaks the kiss, but only to whisper, “Fuck you.”  
  
"No," I reply, yanking my shirt off. "I’ll fuck you."  
  
I kiss him back, sucking on his bottom lip as he reaches around and grabs my ass. I start to move my body faster, desperate to feel friction and heat, and he gives me that, his fingers exploring my exposed skin and even sliding down into my pants.  
  
When he grabs my member, I gasp into his mouth, and I can practically feel him smirking as he strokes me. Everything in me is screaming  _Holy fuck never stop never stop_ , but I know we have to keep it down, so I just keep kissing and sucking on his lips, hoping it’ll muffle my sounds.  
  
"Shirt off," I demand, determined to regain control. I reach for his shirt, and this time he doesn’t resist me, instead letting me undress him and reveal that beautiful tan skin. From underneath me, he hooks his fingers into the loops of my jeans before pulling them right off. I let out another soft moan, this time of relief.  
  
"Oh, so  _now_  you’re ready,” I say, trying to sound casual, as I kick the pants to the floor. I kiss him some more, sliding my tongue into his mouth again to let him know that I still dominate. He tries to fight back, but I push him down, grinding against him. Then I move my lips downward to his jawline, and Vic’s breath hitches slightly, because he knows exactly where this is going next—to his weakness.  
  
When my lips latch onto his neck, he moans, louder than I expected. “Shh,” I whisper, still biting at the sensitive skin and moving my hips against his front.  
  
"Kellin," he rasps, "I don’t know if I can—if we can—"  
  
"Hold on," I say, pulling away slightly. "I’ve got an idea, but it’s a bit…kinky."  
  
After taking a few seconds to catch his breath, Vic says, “What?”  
  
I bite my lip. I just want to get back to kissing him and taking his clothes off, but instead I ask, “Do you have any duct tape in this room?”  
  
For a moment, he just looks at me. Then he reaches over, opens the side table drawer, and, after a moment of rifling through it, sets out a roll of duct tape and a bottle of lube. He pulls me close, kissing me one more time, and I let my tongue quickly brush against his before pulling it out. Then he hands me the duct tape. “Control me,” he whispers, looking into my eyes with such lust and fire that I almost kiss him again. “I don’t want gentle. Make me yours.”  
  
I would never say no.  
  
I rip off a piece of the tape and slowly seal his lips with it. I’d be lying if I said I’ve never done anything like this before, but I didn’t expect to ever do it with Vic.  
  
I rest my hands on his hips, trying not to rip his pants off immediately. He nods, and I unbutton them for him and throw them to the floor, quickly followed by his boxer briefs.  
  
Vic turns himself over, and I pull my own briefs off before grabbing the lube and covering my fingers with it. I slide the first one inside him, and he tenses up slightly, not making a sound until the second one. Then he lets out a very small whimper as I start to stretch him, and I grimace, remembering that he still has only had sex twice now.  
  
"Are you sure you want to do this?" I ask. He makes a noise of surprise when I add a third one, but in response to my question, he starts to move his body on my fingers. I take that as my cue and pull them out, quickly lubing myself up before fully climbing on top of him.  
  
I push myself in slowly, moaning a little as I feel him clench around me—he’s still so fucking tight, and I love that. After a pause, he bucks his hips, reaching up to grab both of my hands. I link my fingers with his and press them against the bed, making sure not to thrust too fast. But then he starts to move faster, and I have no problem matching my speed with his.  
  
I thrust harder, letting my controlling side out. “Sing for me,” I rasp, though I know the tape will quiet his sounds.  
  
He doesn’t need to be told twice—I can hear his soft, muffled moans underneath me, and I ram into him, making him shout. I gasp with him, my sweat-soaked hair falling into my face as I angle myself differently. With the next thrust, I hit his prostate, and he screams.  
  
 _Oh, fuck yes._  I let go of one of his hands and grip at his hair, practically pushing his face into the pillow. I continue hitting his prostate, my breath hitching with each slam. He convulses and shakes underneath me as I keep going, and I start to pump his shaft as I feel myself nearing my climax.  
  
Even with the duct tape, Vic moans and screams so loudly I’m positive someone can hear us, spilling his seed into my hand. I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood, but I can’t stop a groan of my own from escaping my lips as I come inside of him.  
  
I lie down next to him on the bed, and after a few moments, he starts to slowly peel the duct tape off of his lips. He breathes deeply once his mouth is free, then softly kisses my cheek and whispers, “I think I really fucking love you.”  
  
He seems almost afraid as he says it, and I brush a piece of hair stuck to his forehead away from his face. “It’s okay,” I tell him. “I’m not going to take advantage of that.”  
  
He nods, and I sit up, reaching for my clothes on the floor. “Hey,” I say as I start to get dressed. “Why do you happen to have duct tape and a bottle of lube in that drawer anyway?”  
  
"The duct tape just sort of got there somehow," he replies, following my lead. "That whole drawer is pretty much just a bunch of miscellaneous shit. And Mike got me the lube after he found out I was gay."  
  
I laugh a little. “Figures.”  
  
Once Vic is mostly dressed again, he crawls back into the bed. I crawl in with him, and he rests his head on my shoulder, closing his eyes. “It’s nice that you care,” he says drowsily. I’m not sure if he knows he’s saying it. “I didn’t think I was worth caring about. But if even an amazing person like you cares about me…I have to be worth  _some_ thing, right?”  
  
I kiss the side of his head. “You’re worth more than just something.”  
  
I stay with him until he falls asleep, but then I know I have to get out before I get caught. So before I go, I leave him a note on his side table:  
  
 _You’re really adorable when you sleep.  
  
I’ll see you tomorrow.  
  
—you know who_  
  
—  
  
In my sleep, I see Jack. I see him lying on the floor of his bathroom, not waking up no matter how much I shake him or yell in his ear. He’s dead, I know he’s dead, but I don’t believe it. Not even when his corpse is right in front of me.  
  
The scene switches—I’m in a different bathroom now. There’s another person lying on the floor, but it’s a different person this time. At first I can’t tell who it is, but then I notice the jacket.  
  
I’m looking at me.  
  
I’m looking at me not waking up. I’m looking at Justin finding me here. I’m looking at him calling Gabe and Vic. I’m looking at them with their phones up to their ears, falling to their knees when they hear Justin speak.  
  
Am I really worth all that?  
  
My phone starts to ring, waking me up. Thank God. I don’t want to be in that dream ever again.  
  
I reach over to my side table and grab the phone. “Hello?”  
  
"Hey, uh, Kellin?" It’s Gabe. "So, it seems we might have a little problem."  
  
I sigh. It’s too early for this shit. “We’ve always got some sort of problem. What is it this time?”  
  
"Well, last night I ran into Josh, and right before he saw me, I overheard him talking with some other people. I didn’t hear much, and most of it was really vague anyways, but what is pretty clear is that he’s at least got something planned. You might want to be on your guard for the next few days, because I’m pretty sure it has more to do with you and Vic than it has to do with anyone else."  
  
"Already on that. Thanks, though."  
  
"No problem."  
  
When he hangs up, I sigh again and bury my face into my pillow. I know I can’t avoid everything by staying in bed longer, but I can sure as hell try.


	20. Sleep With One Eye Open

**Chapter 19 - Vic**  
  
I’m starting to think that Kellin is even more paranoid than I am. Which is saying something.  
  
He has a wild glint in his eyes, and he’s watching everything so closely, like he can’t afford to miss anything, or like something’s going to pop out of nowhere and try to murder him at any moment. Sometimes I wonder what goes through his mind, and then I wonder if I even want to know.  
  
"What’s wrong?" I ask him (three times, to be exact).  
  
Every time, he responds with a quick and blunt, “Nothing.”  
  
Which means that there’s something. Then again, there’s always something.  
  
I decide to try not to worry about it, but that’s a bit difficult when Kellin seems to be doing nothing  _but_  worrying. It’s kind of contagious.  
  
At least the bullying seems to have slowed down considerably. There are no confrontations, and I find I can actually make it from one class to the other in peace. I only get a few rude remarks, and none of that is when Kellin’s with me.  
  
"Did you do something?" I ask him at lunch. "Because less people are trying to make my life miserable today."  
  
"Well, I gave a little message to Jenna’s brother," he says, shrugging. "Told him to pass it on. I’m not sure if I like that everyone’s afraid to even look at me, but it’s got its perks."  
  
I nod, biting my tongue at the mention of Jenna’s name. The things that have happened to Kellin…they’re all so crazy. And he’s so strong, or, at least, he acts like it. How does he live with the fact that he has accidentally killed two people? My conscience would never let me hear the end of it.  
  
"You know a lot of dead people," I blurt.  
  
For a moment, Kellin just stares at me.  _Oh, shit,_  I think.  _That’s not something you just say to someone, Vic. Fucking idiot. Can’t you ever keep your mouth shut?_  
  
But then Kellin nods. “I do,” he says. “Four, at least.” He starts to tick them off on his fingers. “There’s Jenna…there’s Oli…there’s Jack…” His voice cracks at the mention of Jack. I think I see him start to slip away, into something other than reality, but then he shakes his head, bringing himself back. “And there’s…there’s Taylor.”  
  
That’s a name I don’t recognize. “Who’s Taylor?”  
  
"A guy I watched get stabbed and die," he says simply. "On the day that I decided to kiss you."  
  
"Oh," I say. I remember him mentioning that, but he never said much about it.  
  
Then his eyes widen, as if a realization has just hit him. “Oh, shit. Oh, God, what was her name?”  
  
"Whose name?"  
  
"There was a girl," he says. "Taylor mentioned a girl before he died. He told me…to tell her he loved her. But I can’t even remember her goddamn name." He smacks his own forehead. "Damn it. I had one job.  _One. Job._ ”  
  
"It’s okay," I say softly. "What about the letter it started with? Do you remember that?"  
  
He thinks for a moment before shaking his head in defeat. “No, it’s lost on me. Completely fucking lost. And it’s not like I can go and ask him, unless I figure out how to talk to spirits or some shit.”  
  
"It’s okay," I repeat. "It’ll come to you, I swear. Even if you  _do_  remember it, what are the chances that you’ll find her?”  
  
"I have to," he replies.  
  
And that is that.  
  
At first, I wonder why it’s so important to him, why he got so angry at himself when he realized he couldn’t remember. Then I think about it, _really_  think about it, and it doesn’t take long for me to understand: He thinks he has failed and fucked up too many times already. He hates that he’s done it once again.  
  
The paranoia I’ve been seeing all day becomes mixed with determination, and I think it’s for that reason: He wants to protect me from whatever the threat may be, and now he wants to protect me even more. He wants to prove—probably more to himself than to anyone else—that he  _can_  do something right.  
  
When Mike hops into the rental car we’re using until mine gets repaired, he pulls out his notebook with a huge grin on his face. I don’t comment on it until we’re on the road. “You seem happy.”  
  
"Oh, I am." He opens the notebook and starts flipping through the pages. "I worked on this all day instead of focusing on class. Probably a stupid move, but I can’t pay attention anyways."  
  
"Ain’t  _that_  the truth,” I say, smiling a little. He smacks my arm.  
  
"Seriously, though," I continue. " _All_  day? That has to be a new record.”  
  
"It definitely is. It was difficult sometimes, and I got distracted a lot, but I knew I had to finish this one."  
  
"So did you?" I pause at a stoplight and turn to him.  
  
He nods. “I actually fucking finished it. Wanna see?”  
  
"Hell  _yes_!” Mike has never finished anything, ever. He’s gotten really close sometimes, but focusing is not one of his strong points. This is a big deal. This is fucking monumental.  
  
He turns the notebook around to face me and holds it up. It takes me a few moments to realize that this is not a photograph, but an actual drawing.  
  
"I told him I’d draw him," Mike says. "I couldn’t  _not_  finish it.”  
  
It’s a drawing of Tony.  
  
"Holy shit," I breathe. "That’s amazing."  
  
"Whoa, really? I think it looks kinda lopsided."  
  
"Did you show it to him yet?"  
  
He shakes his head. “No, not yet. Think I should?”  
  
The light turns green, and after one last glance at the drawing, I start driving again. “Definitely. He’ll love it.”  
  
—  
  
"Tony and I are going out tonight," Mike announces as he steps into my room. "And you and Kellin are coming with me."  
  
I look up. I’m sitting at my desk, trying to do my homework. “We are?”  
  
"Yes. You have no choice. Tony’s picking me up at six, so you’ve got, like, an hour and a half. It’s double date time."  
  
"Okay, I’ll go with you," I say. "On one condition: You have to show him your drawing tonight."  
  
"I’ll think about it." With that, he bounces back out of the room.  
  
I finish the homework quickly, then call Kellin immediately after I put my pencil down.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"I’ve got a proposition for you," I say deliberately.  
  
"You don’t say," Kellin replies, in the same tone of voice. "And what might this proposition be, dear Victor?"  
  
"You. Me. At six."  
  
There’s a pause. “I shall contemplate said proposition and return to you with an answer at a later date.” Another pause. “I have contemplated the proposition.”  
  
"And the verdict is…?"  
  
Pause.  
  
Kellin says, “You have one hour to make yourself look as fucking gorgeous as you possibly can. Though that shouldn’t be too hard.”  
  
I grin. “I’ll see what I can do.”  
  
I spend an inordinate yet completely necessary amount of time getting ready. I try on three different outfits before finally settling on a black band t-shirt, a denim vest, black jeans, and my Vans. Then I have a long debate on whether to straighten my hair or to leave it natural.  
  
Mike notices all of this and says, “You know, Vic, sometimes you’re just such a  _girl_. And I don’t mean that in a bad way.”  
  
I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror. I’d say I look pretty damn good, but at the same time, I don’t feel completely satisfied. “Mike, should I straighten my hair or leave it the way it is?”  
  
Mike stares at me for a moment. “Hmm. I say leave it the way it is. Don’t wanna seem like you put  _too_  much effort into looking good.”  
  
I bite my lip. Oh, God, I didn’t even think of that.  
  
Mike notices that, too, and laughs a little. “Dude, I’m kidding; it really doesn’t matter. From what I’ve seen so far, I’m pretty sure Kellin won’t give a shit what you wear. You could go in dressed as Pikachu and he’d probably get turned on.”  
  
At that moment, the doorbell rings. “Well,” Mike says, “one of our Romeos is here.”  
  
He turns and rushes downstairs, and I follow. But when we get to the front door, we find that Mom has beaten us to it.  
  
"Shit," Mike mutters.  
  
Mom turns around, revealing Tony, who is standing awkwardly in the doorway. “So,” Mom says, “this guy says he’s here to see you, Mike.”  
  
Mike nods casually. “He is. It’s okay; Vic’s coming with us so I don’t kill myself.”  
  
Well,  _that’s_  an interesting way to put it.  
  
Mom looks at us for a few seconds. “Okay, fine,” she says.  
  
Mike grabs my hand and drags me out of there before she can say anything else. “Thanks, Mom,” he says dismissively. “Bye.”  
  
Tony’s car is parked right in the driveway, and the sight of it reminds me of that first night—the first night Kellin and I spoke to each other in three months.  
  
"Is Kellin here yet?" Tony asks. So he knows about the plan.  
  
"Not yet," I say.  
  
Mike points. “That him?”  
  
Sure enough, Kellin is walking up the street toward our house—I can’t see Justin’s car, so he must’ve walked the whole way here. He waves at us and starts walking faster.  
  
Tony and Mike hop into Tony’s car awhile, Mike in the passenger seat and Tony behind the wheel. I climb into the back, and a few seconds later, Kellin joins us, eyeing my outfit with interest. “You trying to steal my style, Fuentes?” he says, pointing to my vest.  
  
I make a face at him. “No. It’s not a jacket; it’s a vest. And it’s not even leather, either. It’s  _denim_. Big difference.”  
  
Kellin rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”  
  
Soon, it’s revealed that the place we’re going to is a club called Black Rain. Kellin says he’s gone to it a few times before, but I’ve never heard of it. It’s on another side of the city, one that I don’t visit as often. It doesn’t look much different from any other club, except that the lighting is maybe a little on the dark side.  
  
Kellin steals two barstools for us, as usual. He orders himself a drink—I don’t want one—before turning to me, tilting my chin up slightly, and saying, “You certainly did not fail me in the gorgeousness department. Then again, you never have.”  
  
I smile. “You smooth bastard.”  
  
He shrugs, sipping some of his drink. “I’m just telling the truth.”  
  
I wonder if I can make him blush the same way I know he makes me. “Well, if  _I’m_  gorgeous, you’re a god.”  
  
He shakes his head. “If I’m a god, you’re a liar.”  
  
"If  _I’m_  a liar, you’re fucking James Dean.”  
  
"Fine, then. But if I’m James Dean, you’re Audrey Hepburn."  
  
I’m not sure how long we go back and forth like that. All I know is that it stops at a certain point, when someone taps Kellin on the shoulder and asks to talk to him in private.  
  
I shoot him a look of confusion—I don’t recognize the guy. Kellin shoots me the same look back; I guess he doesn’t, either. But he takes another sip of his drink, stands up, and says, “Okay, sure. Whatever.” He turns to me, and for the first time, I notice how spaced out he seems. “Go look for Mike or something. I’ll come find you afterward.”  
  
I nod, and he turns around and walks away with the guy. I try not to note the fact that Kellin is unsteady on his feet.  
  
Sighing, I get up and start to scan the dimly-lit room. Mike and Tony are, of course, nowhere to be found. Still, I find myself completely immersed in the search, suddenly determined to track them down, if only to calm my mild panic.  _Nothing is happening to them,_  I tell myself.  _They just ran off like they always do._  
  
This lasts for about twenty minutes, until finally, after I think I’ve exhausted every possible hiding place in the whole damn club, I find them. They are in a corner even darker than the rest of the place, and now I can understand why: They’re making out.  
  
I take a deep breath of relief. I don’t want to bother them or seem like I’m stalking them, so I decide to leave them alone. As soon as I turn away and start heading back to the bar, I realize that Kellin never came to find me.  
  
So much for being calm.  
  
Quickly, I weave in and out of crowds of people, desperate to get to the barstools we were sitting at. When I reach them, I find that they’re both empty, and Kellin’s drink is still there, also pretty much empty. Kellin himself is nowhere to be seen, and neither is the guy who wanted to talk to him in private.  
  
 _Maybe they’re still talking,_  I think. But that doesn’t really seem to comfort me, so I sit down in my barstool, pull out my phone, and call him.  
  
For the longest time, there’s no answer, but then I hear his voice. I can barely understand him over the noise of the club, but it turns out I don’t need to—it’s his voicemail box.  
  
I shove my phone back into my pocket.  _Oh, God. What if something happened?  
  
Shut up, Vic,_ I tell myself.  _That’s not a fact. It could be anything. Just sit here and wait. He’ll be back, and then you’ll realize how unnecessarily paranoid you were._  
  
So I sit here and wait. And Kellin does not come back.  
  
I pull my phone out and try calling him again. I don’t expect him to answer, but I hope that he does. Well, he doesn’t.  
  
 _Maybe he can’t hear it,_  I think desperately.  _Maybe he turned his phone off or something. He’s fine, Vic. He’s fine._  
  
Those thoughts are washed away a few minutes later, when I get a text from him:  
  
 _Red cup_  
  
Oh, fuck.  
  
"Red cup" means danger. "Red cup" is an SOS message. I have to find him. But where the hell  _is_  he?  
  
"Hey," I call, knocking on the countertop. When a bartender pops up, I say, "Did you happen to see where the guy sitting here went?" I point to the empty barstool where Kellin had been sitting.  
  
"What did he look like?" the bartender asks. "Young? Long, dark hair? Leather jacket?"  
  
"Yes!"  
  
He nods. “Oh, yeah, I saw him. He was pretty out of it, I’d say. Could barely stand on two feet. A friend of his helped him and got him outta here.”  
  
I narrow my eyes. “Uh…what color was the friend’s hair?”  
  
The bartender shrugs. “Black, I think. But everything looks a little darker in here.”  
  
The guy who wanted to talk to Kellin had black hair.  
  
Gabe and Justin don’t.  
  
"He didn’t say where they were going, did he?" It’s a long shot, but I don’t care.  
  
The bartender shrugs again. “I don’t know, man. I’m not your friend’s keeper. My guess is he just went home.”  
  
The text on my phone says differently, but I can tell that this is the best answer I’m going to get. “Uh, okay. Thank you.”  
  
I duck my head, rushing out of the club and into the cool night air. Just as I’m realizing that I can’t drive Tony’s car because I don’t have the keys, someone taps me on the shoulder.  
  
I spin around, hoping it’s Kellin—but instead, it’s Jesse.  
  
"Hey," he says breathlessly, holding out a small piece of paper. "I was told to give this to you. If you’re looking for a certain someone…I think you’ll find him there."  
  
Before I can even say anything, he turns and heads back inside. I glance down at the paper and see that it’s an address.  
  
Why would he give me this? Why would someone tell him to give me this?  
  
I don’t have time to question it.  
  
I run back inside, desperately praying that Mike and Tony are at the same spot. Luckily, they are.  
  
"Tony!" I yell. He looks up. "Can I borrow the car keys?" I ask. "I have to go somewhere real quick. I’ll explain later."  
  
I guess Tony recognizes the urgent tone in my voice, because he grabs his keys from his pocket and tosses them to me. I nod and sprint back outside.  
  
 _Kellin could be dead by the time I get there,_  I think, frantically starting the car and glancing at the address.  _Or this could be the wrong address. It could be a trap. It could be anything._  
  
Then I think,  _Shut up, Vic. Just drive. You’ll see what happens when you get there._  
  
So I drive.  
  
I drive in a panic. I drive as fast as I can without crashing or getting pulled over. I drive and I don’t think about anything but the fact that Kellin is trusting me to act on the message he sent. And I’ll be damned if I don’t.  
  
I see it before I even get to the exact address. Down the road, near the end of a street in an abandoned city neighborhood, I see someone dragging someone else out of a car. Person A is stumbling but fighting in Person B’s grip, and Person B is holding him upright, seemingly not fazed at all by his useless attempts at resisting. They are heading to a small house or apartment of some sort, and though I can only see their silhouettes in the halo of the outside light, I recognize them both immediately: Person A is Kellin, and Person B is the stranger from Black Rain.  
  
Rapidly, I park the car in the nearest space and jump out. I don’t know what I’ll do when I actually reach them—I don’t have a weapon or anything—but I don’t have time to think. All I can do is wing it and hope for the best.  
  
I’m sprinting, just about to call out, when someone grabs my arm and yanks me to the side, into the darkness of an alleyway.  
  
Fuck no.  
  
I spin around, panicked, as more hands pull me. I can barely see anything in the dark, but when the first punch hits me, I realize what’s going on.  
  
They want to kill me.  
  
So they take Kellin.  
  
They know I’ll always come for him.  
  
From here ensues the beginning of a possible—probable—bloodbath. My hair is pulled, my mouth is covered, and as much as I try to fight back, I know I’m outnumbered and outmatched. They hit me, they kick me, they cut me, they throw me around.  
  
When one hand slips free of my mouth, I manage to choke out, “Are you—going—to kill me?”  
  
One guy laughs, hitting me in the back of the head so hard I fall over. “Not ‘til Josh gets here. Wanted to give us a fair amount of time. But he should come soon enough.”  
  
 _So they’re kind of just stalling,_  I think.  _Maybe, until Josh arrives, I have a chance to escape._  
  
But then the pain starts to close in on me, and still they won’t stop adding more. I am struggling the best I can because I have to get away and I have to get to Kellin, but I don’t know how I’ll be able to do that.  
  
Then an angel bursts in—two, actually—in the form of Justin and Gabe.  
  
They’re only two people, but they make a world of a difference. Grips on me are loosening up. Some guys are getting distracted by Justin’s and Gabe’s attacks. Before I know it, I’m wresting myself free, and though I’m still the main target, I’ve got that chance now.  
  
"How did you…?" I gasp.  
  
"He sent us the message, too," Justin calls from his place in the fight. "Go. We’ll hold ‘em off."  
  
Someone aims another punch my way, but I manage to dodge this one and spin around not-so-gracefully, trying not to trip or grimace at the pain of movement.  
  
Then I run.  
  
There are few things more terrifying than this thought that I am thinking: _When I open the door, I could find his body on the other side._  
  
I understand now. And suddenly, Kellin’s paranoia doesn’t seem so crazy.


	21. Just to Make It Through the Day

**Chapter 20 - Kellin**  
  
There was something in my drink.  
  
There had to be, because I only had one drink. One drink, yet I can barely see, barely think, barely function. This is not what happens when I only have one drink.  
  
The guy told me he’s part of Josh’s gang. He’s new, apparently, which is why I didn’t recognize him at the club. He also mentioned something about this being part of his initiation or some shit. He might’ve said some other things, too, but I don’t know what and I really don’t care to know.  
  
All I know is that he’s probably the one who put the thing in my drink. He’s the one who drugged me and made me helpless. He’s the one who dragged me into this place, and now he’s the one who is holding me down on the couch, the one who has thrown my jacket to the floor, the one who has my shirt half off. And I can’t do anything about it except yell and struggle in vain. So that’s what I do.  
  
The door bursts open, and a figure runs toward us. “Kellin!” it screams, and only when I hear that voice do I recognize who it is. Vic.  
  
My vision is blurring, so I can’t see what he’s doing. I can only feel the guy’s weight being lifted off of me, and I can hear punches being thrown. I stand up quickly, furiously blinking away the darkness closing in on me.  
  
"You—don’t—fucking—touch—him!" Vic shouts. Even though everything is crazy and distorted, I can tell that his inner badass has been unleashed.  
  
Something cracks, and I turn around, trying to keep steady on my feet. Vic is standing in the middle of the room, and the guy is lying on the ground, groaning.  
  
Vic grabs my hand and pulls me forward. “Let’s go,” he says, and we run—or, rather, Vic runs, and I stumble along after him. We race out of the house, and Vic leads me to the car, opening the passenger door for me before climbing into the driver’s seat.  
  
"Drive," I gasp. He drives.  
  
"Oh, Jesus," he sighs after a long moment of us catching our breaths. "Are you okay?"  
  
Am I okay? Everything is spinning. I’m seeing stars. I feel like I’m going to pass out or throw up or  _something_.  
  
I sigh, too. “Not really.”  
  
After a pause, Vic says, “That was kind of insane.”  
  
I laugh a little, closing my eyes. “You don’t say.”  
  
"Look, I’m sorry I let that guy—"  
  
I hold my hand up. “Save it. It’s okay.” After another short pause, I add, “I’m not used to this.”  
  
Vic takes the role of me. “Used to what?”  
  
I shrug. “Having to be rescued. Having to be saved for once, instead of always having to be the savior.”  
  
I can picture him shrugging, too. “Well, it was about time you got a bit of a break,” he says. “Instead of always having to save everyone.”  
  
I nod a little. Then I shiver. “It’s cold.”  
  
"Well…where’s your jacket?"  
  
Um.  
  
"I, uh…I think we left it back there," I say.  
  
Silence.  
  
"Don’t go back to get it," I tell him, answering his unspoken question. "It was Jesse’s anyways."  
  
"Okay."  
  
We’re both quiet for a few moments as I try (and fail) to get a solid grip on reality. Then Vic says, “Looks like I’m low on gas.”  
  
I turn my head slightly. “So?”  
  
I can picture him shrugging again. “I don’t know. It reminds me of a line from a movie. ‘ _I’m low on gas and you need a jacket_ ’. Because, y’know, I’m low on gas. And, well, you need a jacket.”  
  
"Wasn’t that from  _Wayne’s World_?”  
  
“ _Wayne’s World 2_.”  
  
"Whatever."  
  
"That’s a good song title," he says thoughtfully.  
  
“‘ _I’m low on gas and you need a jacket_ ’, you mean?”  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"What would the song be about?"  
  
Pause. “I’ll get back to you on that.”  
  
Even with my eyes closed, everything keeps on spinning, and eventually, I stop trying to fight it. Instead, I embrace the darkness. I let myself fall into it.  
  
—  
  
When I wake up the next morning, Saturday, I can’t remember anything. Light is streaming through my bedroom window, and someone is sitting on my bed, playing a guitar.  
  
“ _Burst into flames_ ,” the person sings softly, “ _scream in the dark…_ ”  
  
Vic.  
  
“ _I’m gonna light up this place and die in beautiful stars tonight…_ ”  
  
"Vic?" I whisper.  
  
He pauses, turning to me. “You’re awake.”  
  
I nod. “What happened last night?”  
  
"How much do you remember?"  
  
I shrug, trying to conjure up some memories. “Light. A club. Some guy. You.”  
  
"We went to a club, and you got drugged and, well, kind of kidnapped. I sort of rescued you, I guess, and then you passed out."  
  
"Yeah," I say slowly. "That sounds familiar."  
  
Affectionately, he brushes my hair out of my face.  
  
"What song was that?" I ask.  
  
He shrugs, smiling shyly. “Just a little something I wrote. I called it ‘Props and Mayhem’. I thought you might like it.”  
  
I smile back at him, pushing myself up into a sitting position. “I only heard a few lines, but I liked it.”  
  
He stares down at the guitar. “I never knew you had a guitar. I didn’t see it the last time I was here.”  
  
I sigh. “We only got it yesterday. Jack’s parents gave it to us. It was his.”  
  
His smile disappears. “Oh.”  
  
"I don’t actually know how to play it," I add, trying to change the subject.  
  
He takes the hint. “Maybe I could teach you sometime.”  
  
I nod, thinking of the field. “You teach me how to play, and I’ll teach you how to fly.”  
  
He looks up at me. “Fly?”  
  
"Yeah. You know, with the field and the sunroof."  
  
"Oh, yeah." He cracks a little half-smile. "Who’ll be our designated driver?"  
  
"Guess we’ll have to figure that out."  
  
The half-smile turns into a full grin. He starts to strum the guitar again, picking out melodies in a seemingly effortless way. Maybe it  _is_  effortless.  
  
"Hey," I say. "What happened after I passed out last night?"  
  
Vic shrugs, setting the guitar down on the bed. “Nothing much. I kind of carried you up here.”  
  
"You  _carried_  me?”  
  
He nods, half-smiling again. “You’re a bit lighter than I expected.”  
  
I stick my tongue out at him. Then, in a more serious tone, I say, “You didn’t have to stay over.”  
  
He shrugs again. “I wanted to.”  
  
I reach forward and take his hand in one of mine. “Thank you. For everything.”  
  
He raises one eyebrow. I think he’s about to ask a question, but then his phone rings. “That’s probably Mike,” he says, letting go of my hand. “I called him last night and told him I’d be staying over here to keep an eye on you.”  
  
I snort. “You keep an eye on me. Next you’ll be telling me that Mike finished a drawing.”  
  
Vic makes a face. “He did, actually. But, anyways, I should probably take this.”  
  
I nod, and he answers the phone. “Hello?”  
  
While he talks to Mike, I pick up the guitar and start picking at the strings. It’d be nice to know how to actually use this thing, and it’d be fun to be taught by Vic. I can’t help but smile to myself.  
  
After he hangs up, he turns to me and explains, “So Mike covered for me. Told our parents I was helping a friend and that it was an emergency—which isn’t a lie, either. The only problem is that they want to see this friend.”  
  
Oh, shit.  
  
"It’s okay," he says, sensing my incoming panic. "I’ll get Justin to do it. He’s got a black eye and some cuts and bruises, too, so it’ll look more convincing."  
  
"Wait, he does?"  
  
Vic nods. “He and Gabe were there last night, too. Josh’s gang tried to kill me while I was trying to rescue you, so they came and fought ‘em off so I could get you.”  
  
 _Holy shit._  How many people have I dragged into this?  
  
"Oh," I say. "I…wow."  
  
"I should probably get back," Vic says.  
  
I nod, leaning forward and planting a quick kiss on his lips. “I’ll see you around.”  
  
"Yeah," he says. "See you."  
  
—  
  
I never thought I’d end up trying to be the peacemaker.  
  
Once again, I’m standing in front of the door to HQ, but this time is different. This time I’m not planning any sort of vengeance. I didn’t even bring any weapons with me. I haven’t gone out in public without even a small knife for so long that it feels so uncomfortable to be empty-handed. I feel like everyone can sense that I’m unprotected and will charge up to me at any moment with a loaded gun.  
  
But I have to do this if I want all the violence and drama to stop. I’m sick of dragging everyone into my problems and nearly getting them all killed—not only Vic, but also Justin and Gabe and even Mike and Tony. I just have to hope that maybe Josh is in a good mood today and will negotiate with me.  
  
I open the door slowly. Predictably, there’s no one on the main floor, but I can hear some commotion coming from the basement, so I head over to the trapdoor.  
  
Well, here goes nothing.  
  
The second I start to make my way down the stairs, guns are pointed at me and threats are shouted. I hold my hands up as I rush the rest of the way down. “Hey, hey, hold your fire!” I yell. “I’m not here to hurt anybody.”  
  
"Bullshit," someone says.  
  
I shake my head. “I’ve got no weapons with me anywhere, I swear. Just hear me out.”  
  
There’s a short pause, which is when I notice a familiar face sitting on the couch. The person recognizes me in the same instant.  
  
"Lucas?"  
  
He jumps up. “Kellin?”  
  
I turn to Josh, who says to another person, “Take him upstairs. He doesn’t need to see this.”  
  
The guy motions with his hand. “Come on, Lucas.”  
  
Lucas pouts but follows after him. “I’m always out of the loop,” he mutters as they head up.  
  
Once they’re out of earshot, I turn back to Josh. “You brought the  _kid_?”  
  
"He doesn’t know about us. About what we do. I just needed to keep an eye on him for a little while. Why are you here?"  
  
I sigh. “I’m here to make a truce.”  
  
From over at the pool table, Jesse—who, I note, is wearing the jacket I stole from him—snorts, crossing his arms over his chest. “You can’t be fucking serious.”  
  
He realizes his mistake immediately, and I smirk at him. “Once again, Jesse, I am not fucking anyone named Serious. And once again, I am completely serious.”  
  
Josh looks like he wants to know the inside joke, but then he turns to me. “I don’t believe you.”  
  
I sigh again. “I didn’t think you would.”  
  
"After all this time," he continues, "what suddenly made you want to be a peacemaker?"  
  
I glance around at the basement, at the bunch of guys all watching me. One wrong move, and they could converge on me and kill me, and I wouldn’t put it past them.  
  
"Truthfully? I just want to keep my friends alive. And myself, too. And I really don’t want anything from you guys—no money or weapons or drugs. And I don’t want to kill anyone else. I don’t want any sort of revenge." The last sentence a lie—I  _do_  want revenge. But I also want to end all this, so I guess that’s something I’ll have to sacrifice.  
  
Josh stares at me for a moment—trying to judge, I guess, whether or not I’m telling the truth. Then he says, “If we make a truce, it will be a very, very fragile one. It could break at any minute, but it will still be a truce. These are the terms I set, because I’m not willing to let you completely off the hook just yet. Take it or leave it.”  
  
"Take it," I say quickly—a bit too quickly, quickly enough that everyone hears the desperation in my voice. But a fragile truce is better than none at all.  
  
Josh looks around at the rest of the guys. “Are we at an agreement, then?”  
  
Slowly, everyone nods, though most of their stares remain hostile. I think they expect me to pull a dagger out of my shoe or something and slit Josh’s throat. (I’ll admit, that would probably be quite satisfactory, but I’m not going to actually do it.)  
  
"Okay, then," Josh says. "So that’s settled."  
  
I nod, and as I turn around to leave, I catch a glimpse of the New Guy, the one who took me last night. Making my way toward the stairs, I grab at a strand of my hair to distract myself from what could’ve happened if Vic hadn’t been there. I want to storm over to where he’s sitting and punch him or something, but then I remind myself that I have just made a truce. So instead, I look away and head back up the stairs.  
  
A few feet away from the trapdoor, Lucas is standing with the guy who took him up here. “I’m guessing you can go back down now,” I say to them. The guy eyes me suspiciously, so I tell him, “Don’t worry. There’s nothing horror movie material down there.” I smirk a little. “Unless you count Josh. He’s pretty terrifying.” I wave at Lucas, whose face brightens.  
  
"Bye, Kellin," he calls as I turn to leave.  
  
I glance back over my shoulder at him. “Bye.”  
  
Damn, I really hope Josh doesn’t corrupt him.  
  
When I step outside, I take a deep breath, unable to stop the feeling of relief from washing over me. I’ve done it. I’ve done something to fix a problem instead of make it worse. It’ll all be okay now. It has to be.


	22. All These Twisted Thoughts

**Chapter 21 - Vic**  
  
Justin pulls off the act with my parents flawlessly. They seem to take a liking to him right away, even though he, supposedly, was the cause of my absence last night. Mike, luckily, is completely unharmed, so my parents refrain from calling me irresponsible. Or maybe they’ll do that anyways; they just don’t want to do it with Justin there.  
  
I walk him back outside after the initial confrontation, and as soon as the front door closes behind us, Justin turns to me and says, “Is it just me, or was that really awkward?”  
  
"Oh, it’s normally much worse," I tell him. "I think you got on their good side. But if you ever see them again, don’t mention Kellin, because he definitely is  _not_  on their good side.”  
  
"With my luck, I’ll probably be  _with_  Kellin when that inevitably happens.”  
  
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, and, lo and behold, it’s Kellin. “Speak of the devil,” I say.  
  
"Answer it," Justin says, smirking a little. "I wanna tell him something."  
  
So I answer it and put Kellin on speaker. Justin grabs the phone out of my hand and sings, “I JUST HAD SEEEEX!”  
  
"As long as it’s not with my boyfriend, I don’t care," Kellin replies without missing a beat. "Speaking of which, where  _is_  my boyfriend?”  
  
"Right here," I say, taking the phone back. "What’s up?"  
  
"Do you want to go out with me tonight? Anywhere."  
  
Automatically, I think of the panic of last night. “Uh, that didn’t work out very well yesterday,” I remind him.  
  
"Yeah, but now we’ve got a truce. We’re invincible."  
  
Justin and I exchange glances. He speaks for both of us: “A  _truce_?”  
  
"Yeah," Kellin says. "I went to HQ and had a little chat with the gang. So we’ve got a truce in place now. Though according to Josh, it’s a really fragile one—like, one wrong move, and they’ll be after us again."  
  
"Well, I hate to break it to you, but that means we’re  _not_  invincible,” Justin points out.  
  
"On the contrary. We  _are_  invincible—to a certain point. So until someone makes that one wrong move, we’re home-free. So I say we celebrate.”  
  
I raise my eyebrows at Justin. For a moment, there’s silence from all of us. Then Justin says, “I’ll call Jack and Gabe. Kell, do you know if Tracy’s working tonight?”  
  
More silence, as we all simultaneously realize what Justin said.  
  
He bites his lip. “I mean…I’ll just…just call Gabe.” With that, he pulls out his phone and starts to call Gabe.  
  
"Damn, I sure wish we could still call Jack," Kellin says. "We could ask him what the afterlife is like." His voice is bitterly sarcastic, and even though I can’t see him, I can picture the sad smile that’s bound to be on his face.  
  
Justin is talking to Gabe now, so I ask, “What do you think he’d say?”  
  
After a pause, Kellin says, “I think he’d tell us to go live our goddamn lives and stop wondering.”  
  
"Then that’s what we’ll do."  
  
"Easier said than done. Now, where are we gonna meet, and when?"  
  
—  
  
"DAMN IT!"  
  
It’s a few hours later, and Mike is in the living room, yelling at the TV screen, where he’s shooting at a bunch of fake zombies on the Xbox.  
  
"How long have you been playing that?" I ask, sitting down on the couch while he sits on the floor directly in front of it.  
  
"The game? A couple hours. The course? Like, three minutes. Tony’s playing with me."  
  
That’s one thing that annoyed the hell out of me when I was younger—Mike switches these types of things constantly. Even if it’s the same game, he just can’t keep it consistent. Either that, or he gives up on it completely.  
  
"Oh shit," he says. "Oh shit shit  _shit shit_  FUCK FUCK FUCK oh wait oh wait oh thank God wait what no SHIT.”  
  
It seems that Mike is completely surrounded and out of ammo. Tony isn’t much better off, and within seconds, the screen turns red and “GAME OVER” flashes across it.  
  
"Is this your version of a date?" I tease.  
  
"Absolutely."  
  
"Did you show Tony your drawing yet?"  
  
"Absolutely not."  
  
"Would you like to come with me, Kellin, Justin, and Gabe to celebrate a truce between us and Josh’s gang?"  
  
Mike turns around to stare at me. “A truce? You’ve gotta be kidding me.”  
  
"Nope. It’s real. We’re now officially somewhat invincible."  
  
"Somewhat?"  
  
I shrug. “Well, apparently the truce could break at any moment. But until then, yeah, we’ve got ourselves a truce.”  
  
"That’s fucking fantastic. Tony and I are coming along. It’s time to exercise our freedom."  
  
So after Mike talks to Tony, he and I start to get ready, once again, for a date at our default time, which is 6:00. I can’t help but think about what he said to Mom last night:  _Vic’s coming with us so I don’t kill myself._  
  
I must admit, though, that I actually feel like he’s safer when he’s out and about, meeting people and doing things. And when he’s in this type of mood, going out is something he can’t resist. I’m thankful for that, but it won’t last. By November, he won’t even want to get out of bed.  
  
But that is November. This is September, and we are about to go out and celebrate our somewhat-invincible-ness. So I watch the Mike who is here with me right now, the one who’s excited for his date with Tony even though they just saw each other yesterday. I tone down the paranoid-older-brother mode a little.  
  
Mom is working, but Dad is here. Luckily, he lets us go once he sees that we’re together, with only a suspicious, threatening glance my way to let me know that I’d better not be spending the night with the Antichrist (better known as Kellin Quinn Bostwick). That is, of course, exactly what I’m doing, but he doesn’t need to know that.  
  
Justin’s car is waiting a few blocks away, and Justin, for once, is the person behind the wheel. Gabe rides shotgun, and Kellin sits in the back. I sit down next to him with Mike on my other side, and as soon as the door is closed, Justin waves at us and announces, “You will all be paying me twenty dollars upon arrival at our destination.”  
  
"I was not informed of this," Mike objects.  
  
Justin pulls out onto the road. “Too bad. So sad.”  
  
I raise my hand. “I want a lawyer.”  
  
"Can’t help you with that one, Little Fuentes."  
  
"Little Fuentes?" I point at Mike. " _He’s_  the little brother!”  
  
"No, he’s the  _younger_  brother,” Justin says. “ _You’re_  the little brother, ‘cause he’s taller than you.”  
  
Mike sticks his tongue out at me. “Ha.”  
  
I punch him in the arm. “Fuck you.”  
  
"Hey!" Gabe says, speaking for the first time. "Watch your fucking language!"  
  
It takes me a moment to get the joke, but when I do, I reply with an equally sarcastic, “Shit, sorry.”  
  
I turn to Kellin, who has been sitting in silence with a strange look on his face, like he’s trying to hold back a goofy smile. “I just thought of something,” he whispers in my ear. He raises his eyebrows suggestively, discreetly gesturing to the car interior with his hands. “Justin still doesn’t know about…well, you know…” He winks.  
  
"Oh," I say, smirking a little.  
  
"Don’t think I can’t hear you, Kellin, you bastard!" Justin calls. "What don’t I know?"  
  
Kellin makes no effort to hide his grin now. “Oh, nothing.”  
  
Justin flips him off before returning his attention to the road.  
  
Once we park in front of the club, Kellin says, “By the way, yes, I’m pretty sure Tracy’s working tonight.”  
  
"Hey, wait—it’s Saturday," Justin says, smirking. "Karaoke Night."  
  
"Fuck no," Kellin and I say at the same time.  
  
Justin holds his hands up. “Fine, fine. I was just saying.”  
  
I turn to Kellin with a little half-smile. “Let’s go in style,” I tell him.  
  
"I’m afraid I need my jacket for that," he replies, returning it.  
  
"Okay, you two lovebirds," Justin says. "Stop flirting and come on."  
  
"As if you don’t flirt with SkyRim in front of me," Kellin mutters.  
  
Everyone else opens their doors and hops out. “We’re going inside,” Gabe announces.  
  
I take Kellin’s hand. “Then let’s go inside.”  
  
Once we’re in there, Justin and Gabe head off somewhere, and Kellin and I find Tony waiting for Mike at the bar, chatting with Tracy. As we get closer, I can faintly hear Tracy say, “So, you really like him, huh?”  
  
"They’re so cute together," Kellin whispers—I guess he heard her, too. "I want to punch them in the face."  
  
I snort. “You don’t think people have said that about us?”  
  
"You kidding? I live with Justin. He alone makes more jokes about us than one person can handle."  
  
We’re only a few feet away when someone grabs me by the arm and yanks me away from Kellin, into the bathroom. Then I’m pinned against the wall, Jesse’s voice in my ear with a casual, “Hey, there.”  
  
"Jesse!" Kellin bursts through the door right after us. "What the hell? We have a truce!"  
  
"The  _gang_  has a truce. This has nothing to do with the gang.” He grabs me by the shirt and slams me against the wall again. “This is personal.”  
  
"How about no," Kellin says. Before Jesse can even get a punch in, Kellin’s fists are flying, knocking him away from me. "Vic, go!" he yells.  
  
After a moment of hesitation, I dart out the door, planning to get help. Fortunately, Mike and Tony are still at the bar, and I run up to them, slightly out of breath. “We’ve got a problem,” I say.  
  
Mike sets his drink down. “Whose ass do we need to kick this time?”  
  
"Jesse’s. The truce doesn’t apply to him, apparently." At Mike’s look of confusion, I explain, "He’s Kellin’s ex. The guy with the red hair from last time."  
  
Now his expression is one of recognition. He and Tony exchange glances, and in a flash, they’re both standing. “Where is he?” Mike demands.  
  
I bolt back into the bathroom, where Kellin and Jesse seem to be having a showdown. Jesse, unfortunately, is bigger and stronger, and he looks like he’s winning with barely a scratch on him, while Kellin is bleeding from several places.  
  
Just as Mike prepares to shout something, Jesse lands one more punch, and with that, Kellin is down, crashing against the wall. Blood drips out of the corner of his mouth. I think he’s gone unconscious.  
  
"Hell no," I say, taking a step toward Jesse, but Mike and Tony beat me to him. He can’t fight them both at once—not for long, anyways—and before I can even wonder whether or not to join in, Mike slams him into the wall, and Tony gives him a punch to rival a professional boxer’s. It’s not something I’d expect from someone like him. Even now, he doesn’t say anything, while Mike can’t seem to stop saying things.  
  
"You are a horrible person, you know that?" he rants, though I think that Jesse has fallen unconscious, too, and can’t hear a word he’s saying. "You and Josh and everyone who’s after Vic. What the hell did he ever do to you? Huh? I won’t have any of it. You can bet your ass that if I ever see you—"  
  
"Mike," Tony and I interrupt simultaneously.  
  
Mike stops, instead turning to Kellin, who still hasn’t moved. “I guess we’d better get him out of here.”  
  
"How?" I ask. "Won’t people notice?"  
  
Mike shrugs. “We’ll just have to pray that they’re too intoxicated to care.”  
  
"It’s kind of early," Tony points out. "I doubt many people are smashed already."  
  
"Well, I’m not hanging around any longer than I need to." Mike bends down and picks Kellin up bridal style. "Damn, he’s lighter than I expected. Let’s just make a run for it. You guys can walk right in front of me and cover him."  
  
And so, with strategic maneuvering, we somehow manage to get an unconscious Kellin out of the club with only a few suspicious glances. We climb into Tony’s car so Justin and Gabe have their ride home. The positions are the same as last time—Mike riding shotgun, Tony driving, and me in the backseat with Kellin, who still has not woken up. His head is resting on my shoulder, which is different, considering it’s usually the other way around.  
  
"We could go to my place," Tony suggests. "Just for a little bit. My mom’s working."  
  
I want to ask whether or not his dad will care, but he and Mike act like this means that the house will be completely empty except for us, which makes me realize that maybe it will be. So I shut up.  
  
They do most of the talking, and most of the talking is irrelevant. Mike mentions Star Wars, and before I know it, Tony has said more words in one minute than all the other times I’ve ever heard him speak combined. As they talk, I watch them closely, noting every detail—every secret look they give each other, every smile, the way they finish each other’s sentences. I can see the spark between them.  
  
Next to me, Kellin stirs, groaning a little. He winces, his eyes blinking open. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “What kind of drugs did I take this time?”  
  
It’s interesting that those are the first words out of his mouth.  
  
"Uh, the Jesse’s-fist kind," I tell him as he rubs at his eyes and sits up slowly. "Really hard shit. Zero out of ten would recommend."  
  
"I must be pretty stupid, then." He smiles a little. He seems kind of out of it, but I think he can tell that I’m joking and is playing along with me.  
  
"Oh, yeah, you were definitely stupid," I agree. "Though I must admit, the whole superhero act is kind of attractive."  
  
Kellin nods, the smile disappearing. He stares at me intensely for a few seconds, his gaze drifting up and down my body. “Are you okay?” he asks, and only then do I realize that he’s checking for any new injuries.  
  
"Yeah, I’m fine," I say.  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Kellin,  _you’re_  the one who was unconscious two minutes ago.”  
  
"Good point. I just wanted to make sure he didn’t get a chance to hurt you."  
  
After a pause, I say, “I can fend for myself, you know.” It’s not meant to be mean or defensive. It’s just to remind him.  
  
He nods again. “I know. Hell, you can fend for me, too. But common sense and I, we’re not exactly the best of friends. So…yeah.”  
  
Around this time, we pull into the driveway in front of Tony’s one-story. Sure enough, his is the only car here. “Hey, Mike,” I say as we climb out. “Did you…?”  
  
For a moment he seems confused. Then I guess he realizes that I’m talking about the drawing, and he shakes his head. “And I didn’t bring it with me,” he adds.  
  
Tony and Kellin exchange confused glances of their own, but then Tony just shrugs and says, “Well, here it is.” He does a little  _ta-da_  motion with his hands. “Not much, but…you know.”  
  
"Doesn’t matter," Kellin says as we head inside. "It’s something."  
  
The way he says it makes me start to wonder what would’ve happened to him if he hadn’t had Justin when he got kicked out. What would he have done? Where would he have gone?  
  
He’s still a little unsteady on his feet, so Tony points to a bedroom down the hallway. “You can lie down or something,” he suggests.  
  
I keep on thinking as we head back, and though it’s completely irrelevant to everything that’s happening right now, I can’t help but hate Kellin’s parents. So what if he’s made some mistakes? You don’t just give up on your own kid when they become too much for you to handle.  
  
Kellin falls into the bed the same way he fell into mine last Saturday night—dramatically, and as if it’s the greatest thing in the universe. “It’s so _comfortable_ ,” he sighs.  
  
"You sound like you’re having an orgasm," I tease, closing the door behind us.  
  
He sticks his tongue out at me. “Not yet.”  
  
I sit down on the side of the bed as he sits back up. “Sorry about that,” he says. “Should’ve known Jesse would do something. He might work together with one person or group or something, but only when it agrees with his terms. Guess a truce didn’t agree with his terms.”  
  
"Well, you couldn’t control that," I tell him. I hate seeing him this way.  
  
"No, guess not. But I could’ve not been an idiot and not suggested any sort of celebration. We weren’t there for five minutes before everything got fucked up."  
  
I kiss him.  
  
I kiss him to let him know that I don’t care about any of the things he’s blaming himself for. And, of course, I kiss him just to kiss him, to feel his lips on mine. He kisses back intensely, his hands on my hips, and within seconds I am in his lap with my legs wrapped around his waist. He’s biting at my lower lip, and my hands are slipping underneath his shirt, and we are moving so fast I almost don’t notice that suddenly both our shirts are off. Kellin’s lips are trailing all across my skin, and I am grinding against him, and we are both making small moans. In the back of my mind, I have a slightly irrelevant thought:  _But this is Tony’s bed._  
  
(Then again, we  _did_  have sex in Justin’s car.)  
  
At the same time, Kellin stops moving, his whole body growing rigid with alarm. “I can’t,” he whispers. “Not again.”  
  
And now that we’ve broken it off, I notice for the first time the patterns on Kellin’s skin—the ones that aren’t tattoos. The scratches and bruises, all from different fights. And all those recent fights have been about me. These injuries…they’re all because of me.  
  
"It’s okay," I reply, climbing off of him. "I can’t, either."  
  
And I don’t just mean that I can’t have sex with him right now. I mean something much deeper than that. Because here is a fact: All the kisses in the world will not make Kellin stop hating himself.  
  
In fact, they will do much more harm than good, because with every moment we spend together, there are people plotting to kill me and hurt him. With every moment we spend together, we are being targeted, and every time Kellin gets hurt, it’s in the process of trying to get to me.  
  
And what if they succeed? Kellin will hate himself so much more, because he will blame himself for my death. He will think,  _I didn’t protect him._  
  
We can even go back to the day that Oli died. If I hadn’t been there, if I hadn’t thought I could help, Oli wouldn’t have pointed a gun at my head, and Kellin wouldn’t have freaked out and killed him. Josh would not want revenge on Kellin, and he would not want it in the form of killing me to hurt him.  
  
It’s blindingly obvious to me: I am a constant danger to Kellin, simply by being in his life.  
  
So what do I do?  
  
I take myself out of it.


	23. You Wrote Me In a Letter

**Chapter 22 - Kellin**  
  
Vic, Mike, and I leave Tony’s house not long after that. The voice of my conscience, repeatedly whispering  _Whore Whore Whore Whore Whore_ , is so loud and prevalent that I almost don’t notice Vic’s mood change.  
  
Almost.  
  
But once I notice, I can’t un-notice it. The sudden change in the way he moves, the way he speaks, even the way he stares. It’s there, but when I ask him what’s wrong, he shakes his head and says, “Nothing.”  
  
Normally I’d believe him, because he’s Honest Abe. But I know better than that. Even Abraham Lincoln can lie.  
  
I want to say more about it, but I can’t, because we’re in Tony’s car now, and I’m giving him directions to my apartment building. Vic still smiles and talks and laughs, and if I wasn’t watching closely, I probably wouldn’t even be able to notice the change. But I am, so I do, and I can barely stand it. It’s almost a relief to get out of the car.  
  
Justin isn’t here when I enter the apartment. I go back in my room and smoke three cigarettes.  
  
—  
  
I call Vic in the morning. He answers on the second ring. “Hello?”  
  
"Can I take you to the field today?" I ask, aware of how clingy I probably sound. "Please?"  
  
"Uh, sure. I’ll meet you outside my house."  
  
When I step out into the living room, I find Justin pacing back and forth. He looks pissed.  
  
I turn into the kitchen and start rummaging through the cabinets. “What is it?”  
  
"Jesse," he says. "I heard about what happened last night. What the fuck? You said we had a truce."  
  
"We did have a truce," I reply. "I don’t know if it’s broken now or not. Jesse just kind of does what he wants. He might not be as solidly in the gang as everyone else. Josh seemed sincere. I say we just let it go and not go after them. We’ll deal with Jesse by himself."  
  
"But if Jesse’s still part of the gang, doesn’t that mean that even if we only go after him, we’ll be breaking the truce? You know, if it’s not broken already?"  
  
He’s got a point. “Then we don’t go after him. We don’t go after anyone.”  
  
"Yeah, but do we just let this keep happening? Do you think Jesse’s gonna stop on his own?"  
  
Another good point.  
  
"Then I don’t know what to do," I say. "I’m gonna wait and see what happens. We’re all okay now, so it doesn’t matter."  
  
Justin nods slowly, sitting down on the couch. “You going anywhere today?”  
  
"I’m going to the field with Vic," I say. "You?"  
  
He shrugs. “Gabe and I might go out to a bar or something. Can I have one of your cigarettes?”  
  
"But you don’t smoke."  
  
He pulls one of my lighters out of his pocket. “I do now.” With that, he stands up and heads back to my room.  
  
"Justin!" I call after him. I want to remind him that he has seen me at my worst because of things like this. I want to remind him of his vow to never let himself get as bad as I’ve gotten. But he acts like he didn’t even hear me, so I sigh and head out the door to the apartment.  
  
Sure enough, Vic is waiting for me at the bottom of the tree. He seems spaced out—he doesn’t even notice me until I’m practically right in front of him. Then he looks up, smiling a little. “Hey.”  
  
Softly, I take ahold of his hand. “Hey.”  
  
He lets me lead him back to the car, and only when we’re both inside of it does he ask, “So, why are we going to the field?”  
  
"Two reasons," I say as I start driving. "One, nobody will try to kill us there. Two, I wanted to talk to you."  
  
"Oh, and the phone just doesn’t do it for you?" he teases.  
  
"Well, it’s like I said last time: This way you can’t hang up on me."  
  
"Oh, no. What are you going to confess to me this time?" His tone is lighthearted, but he still raises his eyebrow in real curiosity.  
  
"Nothing," I say, which is the truth. "I just…never mind. What’ll you do if your parents find out you’re gone?"  
  
He shrugs. “I told them I was leaving, and they didn’t really object. I think they’re loosening up a little, actually. Probably because of Tony. I think he’s on their good side. Mike’s actually over at his house right now. So I think I’ll be fine so long as they don’t know I was with you.”  
  
"Well, that’s good, then. Why are they so protective of Mike, anyways?" He’s told me a bit about it before, but I feel like there’s more. Really, though, I’m just kind of stalling until we get to the field.  
  
"Because he’s Mike," Vic says simply. He looks like he doesn’t want to say anything else on the subject, so I don’t press.  
  
The rest of the drive is silent, and I find myself speeding up so that I can get there faster. Vic’s mood has still not switched back from its change last night—in fact, it seems like it’s gotten worse. He tries to hide it, but there’s no use denying that something’s bothering him.  
  
I park on the left side of the road like I usually do and hop out, sitting down on the ground. I don’t feel the calmness that this place usually brings me—I’m just focused on Vic, who sits down next to me and pulls his knees up to his chest.  
  
I clear my throat. “Vic, I know something’s wrong.”  
  
He turns his head, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
  
I want to believe him. I really do.  
  
"Yes, you do," I say. "I know there’s something going on. I’ve told you before—you don’t have to hide anything from me. I just want to help."  
  
"There’s nothing to hide," Vic says. "Honestly. I’d…I’d tell you if there was." I can hear the cracking in his voice. He can’t even meet my eyes.  
  
"Vic, please." I hate pressuring him, but I hate seeing him this way even more.  
  
He reaches out and brushes his fingers against my face. “I’m okay, I swear,” he says. “It’s not a big deal. It’ll blow over. I’ll be fine.”  
  
I want to say something else, but he kisses me before I can even open my mouth. I can’t help but kiss him back, in the hopes that it’ll make him remember—make him remember that, no matter what happens, I’ll always be here. That nothing in the world could make me hate him.  
  
"Let’s just forget about this," Vic says, pulling away a little, his lips still slightly touching mine. "Let’s just forget about everything."  
  
I can’t help but agree.  
  
"You know what I’d love to do?" I ask as he kisses the edge of my mouth. "I’d love to run away. From everything."  
  
"And I’d love to run away with you," he replies.  
  
I kiss him again, full on the lips. “Well,” I say, “you can run away with me anytime you want.”  
  
He leans forward to kiss me back, but then my phone rings.  
  
"You should probably get that," he says, moving away slightly.  
  
"I don’t  _want_  to,” I whine.  
  
"It could be important," he points out.  
  
I groan exaggeratedly, and he smiles at me, amused. After another long sigh, I answer my phone with a blunt, “Something better have exploded.”  
  
"Well, nothing exploded, but I think it’s safe to say that the fragile truce is no more." It’s Gabe.  
  
"Oh, God. What did Justin do?"  
  
He laughs a little. “Well, we were just walking around the city when we ran into Josh and Jesse. At the moment, Justin happened to very angry and also a massive idiot. I think that’s all I need to say.”  
  
"Great."  
  
"I’m calling because Jesse and Josh were alone, and Josh said they’d be back later with the rest of the gang."  
  
Oh, shit.  
  
I stand up. “I’ll be back at the apartment building soon. Try not to die before I get there.”  
  
He does another little laugh. “Will do.” Then he hangs up.  
  
Vic stands up next to me. “Sounds like there’s a problem.”  
  
"Justin was an idiot and the truce no longer stands," I say, climbing back into the driver’s side. Vic gets into the passenger seat, and I quickly turn the car around and set off down the road.  
  
"It wasn’t gonna last anyways," he says.  
  
I sigh. “I know.”  
  
My heart starts pounding faster the closer we get to the building. “We’ll have to make a run for it,” I say when we turn into the parking lot. “In case they’re waiting out here for us. Actually, you should probably just go home. But I’ve gotta stay. Maybe you could just take the car and—”  
  
"No," Vic interrupts. "I’m staying with you. I don’t care what happens."  
  
"Vic—"  
  
"No." He opens the door and jumps out without waiting for me. I rush to catch up with him.  
  
"Vic—"  
  
I’m cut off this time by the familiar but still startling feel of my arm being grabbed and pulled. Vic’s arm is, too, and before I know it, we’re both hidden on one side of the building, one that’s dark and empty.  
  
Sometimes I really hate being right.  
  
Vic is attacked immediately, while I’m just grabbed and dragged some more. “Oh, look,” Josh says, appearing out of nowhere and turning to me. “You’ll get to see it happen right in front of you, just like I did.”  
  
He doesn’t need to specify what “it” is. He means I’ll get to watch my boyfriend die. Just like he did.  
  
"No!" I push and shove and kick and twist, anything to get out of the grasps of at least four different people. Then two people round the corner, one headed for Vic and the other for me. Justin and Gabe.  
  
Gabe doesn’t have to do much to loosen those grasps enough for me to pull myself free, and once I do, I jump into the group of people around Vic. Josh is in here now, so the first thing I do is stab him in the shoulder. He winces, and I pull my knife out before stabbing him with it again. I’m not thinking straight; all I’m thinking is that maybe I can make him die the same way Oli did.  
  
Josh pushes me away, so I try to focus on everyone else. I hold nothing back. Everyone who so much as reaches for Vic gets punched, or kicked, or cut, or stabbed, or a combination. Vic is fighting back, his gaze set on me. That’s what he’s worried most about—not his life, but mine.  
  
Justin and Gabe are helping, too, but we’re so outnumbered, and for every blow I deliver, five are returned to me. But Vic is almost out of their grips. That’s all that matters. He’s the one they want most.  
  
"Vic, go!" I yell as soon as I see a chance. He kicks his one uninjured attacker in the balls, and then he’s free, but he’s still watching me. He shakes his head.  
  
"No!" I shout, tossing him my keys to the apartment. "Go! I’ll be fine!"  
  
Someone yanks at his arm, but he punches the guy right in the face before turning and stumbling away.  
  
Josh looks like he’s about to go after Vic, but through gritted teeth and in between blows, I call, “You can’t beat him up when he’s in the fucking _building_! People are gonna see!”  
  
He scowls, because he knows I have a point. “Guys!” he yells. “Stop. They’re not worth it. We’re leaving.”  
  
I am dropped to the ground suddenly and roughly, and I let out a small moan. I can taste my own blood, and I can feel it running across my skin from stinging cuts.  
  
After a few seconds, Justin’s voice is in my ear: “Kellin. You okay?”  
  
I push myself to my feet, grimacing. “Yeah. I’ll be okay.”  
  
"I’m patching you up when we get inside," Gabe says. It’s a statement that leaves no room for argument.  
  
When we enter the apartment, Vic is anxiously pacing back and forth. He looks up, and when he sees me, his eyes widen and his body stiffens. “Kellin,” he whispers. He looks like he’s about to cry.  
  
"I’m okay," I gasp as the world darkens. "Trust me."  
  
—  
  
When I wake up, I’m lying on the couch, and everyone is looking at me. Waiting for me to wake up, I guess.  
  
"Stop worrying about me," I tell them groggily. "Go. Do whatever. I’m fine."  
  
And then I’m out again.  
  
—  
  
The next time I wake up, Justin and Gabe are gone, but Vic is still here. He’s standing at the dinner table, and it looks like he’s writing a note or something.  
  
"Vic," I say softly.  
  
He looks up, startled. I hear his breath hitching a little as he says, “You’re awake.” His voice cracks.  
  
"What’s wrong?" I ask. "What are you doing?"  
  
He glances back down at the note he’s writing, his hair falling into his face. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”  
  
"Oh," I say. I can feel the darkness closing in on me again. "Okay."  
  
And just before I black out, I hear Vic start to sob.  
  
—  
  
The third time I wake up, I am completely alone. For a while, I just lie there, looking around, when my gaze settles on a piece of paper sitting on the edge of the table. Suddenly, I remember: I remember Vic trying not to cry as he writes the note. I remember him telling me it doesn’t matter, and me being so out of it that I don’t press for an explanation. I remember the last thing I heard.  
  
I stand up and walk across the room. The note is neatly folded, with my name sloppily printed on top in what can only be Vic’s handwriting. I open it up. And I read.  
  
 _I’m so fucking sorry I have to do this.  
  
I’m also sorry that I’m doing it in letter form, because what kind of asshole does that? But it’ll be easier this way. I have to do it before I change my mind.  
  
Kellin, I’m leaving, and I don’t just mean this apartment. I’m leaving you.  
  
It’s the last thing I want to do, I swear. I swear on my fucking life that I love you, and that’s why I’m doing this. I know how stereotypical it seems, for me to use that as an excuse, but it’s the best way I can put it. I’m hurting you by being with you, and I don’t want that. So I’ll go. Forever.  
  
Goodbye, Kell.  
  
I understand if you hate me.  
  
I’m so fucking sorry.  
  
—Vic_  
  
I read it over and over again. I read it enough times that I’ve memorized everything and could probably recite it perfectly twenty years from now. I read it until the words have made a home inside of me. And still, it isn’t registering.  
  
He broke up with me. He broke up with me and he left and he isn’t coming back.  
  
I shake my head. “No,” I say to myself. Then, louder: “ _No_!”  
  
I set the note back down on the table and storm out of the apartment. I don’t know where I’m going. I just know that I need to go somewhere.  
  
It hurts to be up and around, but I don’t care. I walk down the sidewalk, still not sure of my destination, when suddenly I pick up a voice that says, “Bye, Mena!”  
  
I stop in my tracks.  
  
 _Mena._  
  
Where have I heard that name before?  
  
Suddenly, an image of Taylor pops into my mind. He is gripping my hand, and he is saying,  _Tell Mena. Mena Goode. Tell her…tell her I love her._  
  
Mena Goode.  
  
That’s her name. Mena Goode.  
  
I spin around and see a young woman with curly red hair walking out of a shop, in the same direction that I’ve been walking. “Hey!” I say when she gets closer. “Mena? Is that your name?”  
  
She slows down, narrowing her eyes at me. “Yes.”  
  
"Mena Goode?" I ask.  
  
She comes to a full stop. “Maybe. And you are…?”  
  
"Kellin," I say. "You don’t know me, but I…I met Taylor. Right before he died."  
  
Her eyes widen, her calm demeanor starting to fall apart at the mention of his name. “Taylor?”  
  
I nod. “He told me to tell you…that he loved you.”  
  
She stares at me for a few seconds. Then, softly, she says, “Thank you.”  
  
I nod. “You’re welcome.” I can’t hide the way my voice cracks.  
  
We stare at each other for a few more seconds. Then she continues in the direction she was heading, and I turn to go back to the apartment. There’s a horrible feeling in my chest, and I can’t help but feel like something is ending even more now than before.  
  
Because on the day that I decided to kiss Vic Fuentes, I saw Taylor get stabbed in the chest.  
  
And now, on the same day that I fulfill Taylor’s dying wish, I find out that I will never kiss those lips again.  
  
I run the whole way back, blinking away tears. When I burst through the apartment door, Justin looks up from the couch.  
  
"Hey," he says grimly. "I, uh…I found the note."  
  
I don’t say anything. If I so much as open my mouth, I’ll start sobbing. So I just bite my lip and rush back the hallway.  
  
"Kellin," Justin calls. I don’t think he’s surprised when I don’t answer.  
  
I rush into the bathroom, sit down in the tub with my clothes still on, and take the longest, coldest shower of my life. I don’t care that it won’t cover up my screaming, or the sounds I make as my world caves in and my chest feels like it’ll burst. I don’t delude myself into thinking that maybe Justin won’t hear me. Of course he will.  
  
But I don’t care about that. I don’t care about anything but the name permanently burned onto my lips:  _Vic. Vic. Vic._  
  
I don’t know how long I stay in there. All I know is that when I get out, I run into my room, still soaking wet, and try to call him. But he doesn’t answer; he just lets it go to voicemail.  
  
"Vic," I gasp. I am lying on my bed, and I can hardly breathe. "Vic, I love you." I say everything I can think of. I scream it out so loud my throat hurts. "Vic,  _I love you_! I love you and I miss you and I hate you for leaving but  _I love you_!”  
  
And then, quieter: “Don’t go away. Please. I can’t handle everyone going away.”  
  
And then I bury my face into my pillow and scream some more.


	24. This Ship Is Sinking

**Chapter 23 - Vic**  
  
You’d think that by the time I got home, I’d be all out of tears. And you’d be wrong—I cry into my pillow long after leaving the note for Kellin.  
  
I want him back so badly. I want to take the note back, to tear it into shreds, to burn it all up. It’s kind of funny, in a sad way—I broke up with Kellin. I’m not supposed to be upset.  
  
I try to console myself with the truth:  _You’re toxic, Vic. Look at what happened to him today because of you. It’s better this way. You’ll get over him, and he’ll get over you._  
  
My phone rings, and when I check who it is, even more tears start to fall. It’s Kellin.  
  
I’m so close to answering him. But then I remember that I am taking myself out of his life. So I set it back down and let it go to voicemail.  
  
He leaves a message. I know I shouldn’t listen to it, but I do. And then I break down all over again.  
  
I want to scream his words right back at him:  _I love you!_  But I can’t take him back. I can’t even think like that. It’s over. I have to make sure it’s over.  
  
After a long period of lying on my bed, curled up into a ball, I sigh and get my guitar out. Maybe the music will help me. I play absentmindedly, which means it’s not too long before my fingers slip into a familiar chord progression. I whisper the lyrics to myself: “ _Self-medicate, while they sleep we let the night chase evil things away…_ ”  
  
I pause. “Props and Mayhem”, the song I wrote about me and Kellin. That’s what I’m playing.  
  
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I want to write a song about him—a new song, one that shows the whole world how much this hurts. One that says goodbye.  
  
At the moment that I open my eyes, Mike pops in. There’s no hint of excitement or happiness in his expression. “What’s wrong?”  
  
I shrug. “Nothing’s wrong.”  
  
He comes all the way in and closes the door behind him. “No, something is very, very wrong.”  
  
"How do you know?" I set my guitar down. "I’m not even wearing the moping outfit or anything." (Truthfully, that’s because I’ve been too busy moping to even bother, but he doesn’t need to know that.)  
  
"Well, for one, you kind of look like a train wreck. Two, you kind of sound like a train wreck." He sits down in my desk chair.  
  
"What’s that supposed to mean?"  
  
"Meaning not only do you look like you’ve just been crying, but I could hear you crying." His voice softens a little. "It’s about Pretty Boy, isn’t it?"  
  
As an answer, I flop back onto my bed, burying my face into my pillow and letting out a small whine.  
  
"Thought so." The weight on the bed shifts—I guess he’s sitting on the side. "What happened?"  
  
I sigh. “Mike, I don’t know how far you are in your Kellic Quentes story, but if you ever end up finishing it…I hope you’re okay with it not having a happy ending.”  
  
After a pause, he says, “The ship sank, didn’t it?”  
  
I nod into the pillow.  
  
"Did he break up with you?"  
  
I shake my head.  
  
"Did…you break up with him?"  
  
I nod again.  
  
"Well…I mean, if it hurts this badly, then…why’d you do it?"  
  
I turn my head slightly to look at him. “Because I had to,” I say simply.  
  
He nods. “I think I’m gonna show Tony that drawing tonight,” he says softly, changing the subject. “I’m going over to his house again. You can come if you want.”  
  
I shake my head again, sighing. “No, thanks.”  
  
"Okay, let me rephrase that: You are coming with me to Tony’s house."  
  
"No."  
  
"Yes." He stands up, grabs me by the wrist, and pulls me. This only results in half of my body hanging off the bed.  
  
"Fine," I say, pulling myself up to my feet and rubbing at my eyes. "When are we leaving?"  
  
Mike stares at me for a few seconds. “As soon as you’ve pulled yourself together.”  
  
I laugh bitterly. “I don’t even know how the hell I’m supposed to do that. If you wait for me to pull myself together, we’ll be here until you finish another drawing.”  
  
He sticks his tongue out at me. “Fine, then. Fifteen minutes. Let’s go in style.” With that, he leaves my room without even bothering to close the door.  
  
 _Let’s go in style._  I said that to Kellin last night.  
  
 _I wonder how he’s doing,_  I think to myself. ]I wonder what he thought or did when he read my note. I want him to be happy without me. Even though it kills me.  
  
And with that thought process come words, with a melody right on their heels. I dig around in my side table drawer, pull out a slip of paper, and start to write down the lyrics. This is the goodbye song I wanted. I only know a few lines of it so far, but they’re a start, and I sing them softly to myself: “ _So keep in happiness and torture me while I tell you, ‘Let’s go in style’…_ ”  
  
At the top of the paper, I write the title: “I’m Low on Gas and You Need a Jacket”.  
  
Here’s your answer, Kellin.  
  
This is what the song is going to be about.  
  
It’s going to be about us.  
  
—  
  
I hop into the rental car, and Mike follows, setting his notebook down on his lap. “What if he doesn’t like it?” he says as I pull out of the driveway.  
  
"Mike, I think you’re delusional," I tell him. "It looks amazing."  
  
He lets out a breath. “If you say so.” Then he switches his focus onto giving me directions to Tony’s house.  
  
Like last night, Tony’s car is the only one in the driveway, and he’s the one who greets us at the door, giving Mike a soft peck on the lips. “Hey, Vic,” he says to me, and I just wave in response, because the sight of two people in love feels like a punch in the gut.  
  
"Actually, I’m gonna, uh…I’ll be in the car," I say slowly. Mike raises one eyebrow, and Tony just gives me a do-you-always-do-this look. "You know, leave you two alone," I add, aware of how rude this probably sounds. "Might go out for a little, maybe. If that’s okay. I just need to clear my head."  
  
"Uh, sure," Tony says. "We’ll just be here, I think."  
  
I nod and turn back around, but not quickly enough that I don’t catch Mike lighting something out of the corner of my eye. My mind flashes back to that time when Kellin and I were at the park, and we found Mike smoking weed there.  
  
 _Kellin._  
  
Maybe it’s because of the memory of Kellin that I don’t turn around. Or maybe it’s the same as last time: I don’t know what to say. I turn my head enough to notice that Tony isn’t doing any sort of drug (from what I can tell), and then I just walk out.  
  
In the back of my mind, something tells me that I am a horrible person for leaving him. But I can’t stand another minute watching the world go on without me. I can’t stand watching other people live their lives while I’m just here, stuck between staying away from Kellin and running back into his arms. So I storm down the sidewalk and down the streets of the city. I don’t care where I’m going. I just have to go somewhere.  
  
I try to take deep breaths to calm myself down. It isn’t working, but I keep doing it, just so I can focus on something other than what I’m feeling. Who the fuck even invented emotions? I hope they burn in hell.  
  
 _Ah, the infamous iceberg of emotions,_  Mike said once. And he’s right—the iceberg of emotions has struck again. Kellic Quentes has officially sunk, and the Quinn-Fuentes Task Force has gone out of business. Forever.  
  
I am so busy trying not to think, trying to focus on anything but thinking, that I don’t notice footsteps behind me until I’m pressed up against the wall of a building in an alley. Josh is staring me right in the face, and he’s smirking. “Is your boyfriend around to save you this time?”  
  
"If you mean Kellin," I say quickly, "we broke up."  
  
He narrows his eyes. “What?”  
  
"We broke up," I repeat, the words burning in my throat. "You can even ask him. He doesn’t—he doesn’t  _care_  about me anymore.”  
  
If the voicemail he sent me earlier is any indication, Kellin cares a hell of a lot about me, but I have to convince Josh otherwise.  
  
He raises his eyebrows. “You’re sure?”  
  
"Positive," I tell him. "Please, just leave us all alone."  
  
He stares at me for a few seconds. Then, roughly, he lets me go. “I’ll be speaking to Kellin later,” he says coldly, starting to walk away. “You’re not off the hook just yet.”  
  
"Don’t hurt him," I call after him.  
  
Josh glances back over his shoulder. “I’m not making any promises. But I know Jesse won’t, if that makes you feel any better. He’s got his sights set on you.” With that, he’s gone.  
  
 _Good,_  I think, in response to what he said about Jesse.  _Let him go after me._  
  
For a while, I just stay there in that alley, stunned and still trying not to think. Eventually, though, my mind decides to go through a list of reasons why Kellin is better off without me, why I do not deserve him.  
  
 _You’re stupid. You’re lazy. You’re selfish. You can hardly stand up for yourself. You get way too fucking paranoid. You care too much. You push people away. You can’t even look out for your goddamn brother. And everywhere you go, there is someone after Kellin because of you._  
  
I start walking.  
  
And then I start running, desperate to escape the truth. It’s not doing anything for me—it’s not like I don’t know it already. It’s just confirming what I figured out last night, what I acted on today.  
  
When I get back to Tony’s house, he and Mike are still there, and Mike is, of course, fine.  _This just proves my point,_  my inner voice says.  _You get too paranoid._  
  
Mike and Tony are kissing in the living room, and I quickly brush past them, back the hallway. As happy as I am for Mike, the sight or even thought of being in love, of having a boyfriend, makes me want to burn something down.  
  
—  
  
It’s so fucking hard to look at him.  
  
It’s Monday, and I am at school, and Kellin is standing at his locker, which is right across the hallway from mine. I think he keeps stealing glances at me, but I can barely watch him for more than two seconds. If I try to go longer, I start thinking. I start remembering. I remember what it felt like to write that note, the horrible ripping sensation in my chest, and it almost feels like I’m reliving it. I remember us together at the field, where we were invincible, where we first had sex, where Kellin stood up out of the car and screamed at the sky. I remember random things from last school year, before the prom, before Kellin moved—like the awkwardness of our first few conversations, or the equally wonderful and terrifying thrill I felt when I realized I was falling for him. I remember everything.  
  
I want to bridge the distance between us and kiss him, right in the middle of the hallway, just like he did to me. I want to take him back and never let him go again.  
  
But it’s for the best if I stay away. So I stay away.


	25. Are You Still Getting High?

**Chapter 24 - Kellin**

  
I’ve heard it said before that you don’t know how much you love something until it’s gone. In this case, at least, I have to agree.  
  
And to think—I thought I knew how much I loved Vic Fuentes.  
  
I never imagined it’d hurt this badly, watching him silently from across the hall, knowing that I can’t ever have him back. Maybe that’s because I never imagined that this would happen at all. I guess I just thought we’d date forever. I guess I thought it would last. I wanted it to last—I still do. God, I want it more than anything.  
  
I’m thinking about going over there, begging him to start over and try again with me. But then he closes his locker and walks away without so much as a backward glance, so I sigh and do the same.  
  
I’m not used to this. Really, the only other serious relationship I’ve ever had was when me and Jesse dated, and even then, I didn’t feel that strongly for him. That’s probably because I dated him after I’d already fallen for Vic—but then I moved, and we lost contact, and I thought I’d never see him again. So I dated Jesse, but Vic was the one I really wanted. And then I had him, and that was the best feeling in the world. But now…I don’t.  
  
I don’t think I like this whole falling-in-love thing.  
  
I think about him all day, even sending him a few texts (none of which he responds to). I’m completely out of focus, spacing out and not listening during class because I’m too busy thinking about him. No doubt Justin and Gabe notice, but they don’t say anything about it. I think they understand.  
  
Last night, Justin came into my room and sat down on my bed. He’d heard everything, of course, but I didn’t give a shit. “Damn,” he said quietly. “I just…I don’t know what to say.”  
  
"Then don’t say anything," I replied. "Please. Just…don’t."  
  
So he didn’t.  
  
He kept an eye on me the whole night, silently. He watched me smoke the rest of my cigarettes, and I think he wanted to say something about it, but he didn’t. Lately he’s been stealing them from me anyways, so even if he did try to say something, he’d have no room to talk.  
  
I wanted to go out, get drunk or high or something. But Justin wouldn’t let me do that, so I didn’t.  
  
The whole day drags by in painful slow-motion. History is the worst, because it’s at the end of the day, and Vic is right across the room from me. If I really wanted to, I could just jump up, interrupting Mr. Bitters and his horrifically boring lecture, and march up to Vic’s desk, and I could kiss him right then and there. It’s not like I haven’t done things like that before. I could do it again now.  
  
But I don’t, because it won’t change anything. It’ll just cause another conversation for me and Vic later, a conversation in which Vic tells me, once again, that he is leaving me forever. And I don’t want that.  
  
After school, as I’m walking through the city on my way to the apartment, someone calls out, “Hey, Kellin!”  
  
As simple as that.  
  
No threats. No taunting or teasing. And he doesn’t use violence, either. Just a greeting.  
  
I turn around to see Josh Franceschi walking towards me.  
  
He stands in front of me, right in the middle of the sidewalk instead of in an alley. Before I have a chance to ask what’s up, he tells me—well, in the form of a question: “Are you and Vic still dating?”  
  
"No," I say dismissively. "Why?"  
  
He takes a step forward. “He says you don’t care about him anymore.”  
  
I catch on immediately—Vic is trying to sever the connection between us. “That’s right,” I agree. “I don’t.”  
  
He raises an eyebrow. “So, if I were to kill him right now…”  
  
I shrug, trying to hide how my heart beats faster. “Wouldn’t really matter to me,” I say.  
  
"How interesting," he says slowly, "considering that just yesterday, you were willing to practically give your life for him."  
  
"That was a cover-up," I say, the lies spilling from my mouth. "I had to make him believe that I loved him."  
  
He stares at me with interest. “Why?”  
  
I smirk a little. “I assume you’ve heard about my past reputation as the Whore?”  
  
He nods, a smirk of his own creeping onto his lips. All at once, he knows the “truth” that I’m telling him: I used Vic for sex (which, in reality, I haven’t, though my conscience seems to believe differently). For a moment, I think I can see something new in his eyes, something he has never shown me before: respect. He’s taking a liking to me—but, no, he isn’t. He’s taking a liking to my false cruelty.  
  
I see my chance in that same moment.  
  
"What would you say if I proposed another truce?"  
  
He seems to think about that for a moment. “I would ask what your conditions are.”  
  
"You leave everyone that I’m associated with alone. That includes me, Vic, Justin, Gabe, Mike, Tony…everyone. And in return, everyone that I’ve just listed, everyone I’m associated with—they won’t fuck with you or your gang, either. You’re officially free to rob as many stores and sell as many drugs as you please, with no interruption from us."  
  
After a moment of silence, Josh says, “It’s funny how, in the list of people you wanted to be left alone, you included Vic. Thought you didn’t care about him anymore.”  
  
Shit.  
  
"I just don’t want another dead kid’s blood on my hands," I reply smoothly. "What do you say? Do you agree or not?"  
  
Josh nods slightly. “Fine, then. Another truce it is. But I warn you: One wrong move from anybody you’ve mentioned, anybody you say is supposed to leave us alone, even if it’s an accident….If that happens, it’s gone again, and then you’d better watch your skinny ass.”  
  
I can’t help it—I say, “Didn’t know you paid enough attention to my ass to notice whether or not it was skinny. Also, it’s kind of hard to watch your own ass.”  
  
Josh glares at me, holding his hand out for me to shake. “Just—do we have an agreement, Bostwick?”  
  
I grab it roughly. “It’s Quinn.”  
  
"What?"  
  
I pull my hand away, turn around, and start to walk in the opposite direction from him. Glancing back over my shoulder, I call, “The name’s Quinn.” I can’t help but remember that I told Oli the same thing, the day before I killed him.  
  
"Fine, then.  _Kellin Quinn_ ,” Josh says mockingly. “It has a nice ring to it.”  
  
—  
  
Now I’m at the apartment. I’m high, and I’m staring at Justin the way I did when I was the Whore.  
  
"Justin," I say, sitting down next to him on the couch.  
  
He looks up at me, and I can tell that he immediately knows what I’m doing. I don’t know what it is that gives me away—or maybe it’s not anything in particular. Maybe it’s just that he knows me too well.  
  
"Kellin, no," he replies firmly.  
  
"Justin, please." My hand is on his thigh now, and I’m not quite sure how it got there. "I need you."  
  
"No, you don’t." He stands up, and I stand up, too.  
  
"Justin—"  
  
He starts to walk away from me.  
  
"Justin, it won’t hurt anything."  
  
At that, he whirls back around. “Kellin, I’m  _sick_  of this!” he explodes.  
  
"Justin…"  
  
But I can see it in his eyes. He’s done. After all this time, he’s finally had enough of my shit.  
  
"No!" he snaps. "No, no,  _no_. I’m so fucking sick of this. Of you coming back to me as your second choice every time you can’t deal with something or can’t find someone to fuck. I thought it was over, Kell. I thought we were done with this. I thought you were getting better.”  
  
"I was," I say, almost pleadingly.  
  
"Well, I’m not letting you change that. I’ve been letting you do what you want to me for months now. I’ve been keeping track, actually. Wanna know how many times you used me? Eleven. Eleven fucking times."  
  
I want to tell him,  _That wasn’t me. The Whore possessed me._  But the truth is that the Whore  _is_  me—or, at least, it was. It used to be all I was.  
  
"And I accepted it," Justin continues. "I was your fuck buddy. Your fucking boy toy. But I’m not letting us go back to that. I’m not letting  _you_  go back to that.”  
  
"I know," I say softly. "Justin, look…I’m sorry. For everything. I just…I can’t think straight."  
  
"Maybe it would help if you weren’t high," he says, but his flame has died down a little. We stare at each other for a few more moments, and then he adds, "What are you gonna do?"  
  
I know what he means by that. He’s asking me what I’m going to do about Vic. How I’m going to get over him.  
  
I start to head back the hallway, to my room. “I’m gonna smoke.”  
  
—  
  
But it seems that smoking isn’t enough, and in my efforts to find a more sufficient distraction, I somehow end up calling Beau.  
  
He picks up on the third ring. “Kellin?”  
  
I nod, before remembering that he can’t see it. “Yeah, it’s me.”  
  
"Huh. Haven’t spoken to you in a while. How’ve you been?"  
  
This is the thing about Beau: He wouldn’t be a drug dealer if he didn’t have to be. But it’s the best way to get money around here, and if there’s one thing he needs desperately, it’s money.  
  
"Uh," I say. "I’ve been better."  
  
But I’m more to Beau than just a customer—I’m his friend. And, just like Justin, he can sense that something’s wrong. “What happened?” he asks.  
  
I sigh, lying down on my bed. “My boyfriend broke up with me.”  
  
"Damn. You gonna steal his jacket, too?"  
  
I want to laugh, but I can’t bring myself to. “No, it’s not like it was with Jesse. It was like…it  _mattered_. It was, like…” I trail off, because I’m not really sure how to accurately explain it.  
  
"Oh.  _Oh._  Oh, man. He was the Big One, wasn’t he?”  
  
"The Big One?"  
  
"Yeah. You know, the Big One. The first one that you, you know…loved."  
  
I don’t even have to wonder. I know immediately that he’s right.  
  
"Yeah," I say. "Yeah, he was the Big One."  
  
"Oh, fuck. Dude, that’s…wow."  
  
"It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything."  
  
He hesitates. “I’m assuming you want me to give you something?”  
  
We both know what that something is.  
  
"Maybe," I say slowly, sitting up. "I mean, that’s kind of your job."  
  
"Well, I’ll probably regret this when I’m stuck on the streets with no money, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to give you anything."  
  
"Are you serious?"  
  
"Yep. I’ve seen you at some pretty rough spots, and I know Justin has seen you even worse than I have. And you were getting better for a while there, too. So I’m hoping that this will be our last conversation as a dealer and his customer. I  _do_  hope to see you around, though, Kell—and that you won’t be drunk or high when I do.”  
  
"No promises," I tell him, both amazed and impressed. He’s told me before that I’m—or, at least, I used to be—one of his best paying customers. "But I’ll try. Oh—and, Beau?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Take care of yourself for me."  
  
He laughs a little. “I could say the same thing to you.”  
  
—  
  
The next week or so goes something like this:  
  
For one thing, I do not try to stay sober, like I told Beau and Justin I would. Instead, I drown out my conscience, drown out the thoughts—thoughts of Josh, of Jack, of Vic.  
  
One particular night, I’m at the club where Tracy works, and she says to me, “Brian told me you were here again the other night.” (Brian is another bartender.)  
  
I turn to her. “So what if I was?”  
  
"Said you put so many things in your body you could hardly stand."  
  
I shrug. “So what if I did?”  
  
She just looks at me. “Kellin.”  
  
"What?"  
  
"I’m not letting you destroy yourself tonight."  
  
"Don’t you have a job to do?"  
  
She rolls her eyes.  
  
"Okay, okay, I’m sorry," I add. "Really. I know I’m being kind of a bitch lately."  
  
"Ain’t that the truth," she says, a small smile forming on her lips. "Any particular reason for this bitchiness?"  
  
I sigh. “I don’t really want to talk about it. You can ask Justin if you want.”  
  
Tracy nods slowly. She says nothing else about it, but for the rest of the night, she keeps a close eye on me, just like everyone else seems to be doing.  
  
On top of all this, there’s Jack’s funeral. A surprisingly large amount of people attend it, but as I’m looking around, I realize that it’s because there are a bunch of kids from school here. Most of them didn’t even know him, but this funeral is taking place during school hours, so that’s probably why they came—to get out of classes.  
  
I have a very strong urge to punch them in the face—because, seriously, what the hell?—and I can tell from one look at Justin that he feels the same way. Even Gabe, who is normally pretty calm, seems a bit pissed off.  
  
I use my anger to my advantage, kindling it and fueling it to chase off the tears. When it’s over and Justin and I are back at our apartment, he comes into my room, and we distract ourselves some more by smoking out the window.  
  
Vic and I don’t talk at all over this whole week. I can’t stop staring at him longingly, but he barely even glances in my direction.  
  
Now it’s Tuesday, and I have just sat down in my seat for the beginning of history. My gaze strays across the room to Vic, who looks like he’s trying hard not to return the favor.  
  
_Come on,_  I think.  _Just one look won’t kill you._  
  
But we both know I want more than just one look.  
  
At this point, Mr. Bitters begins class with an announcement: “Today we will be starting a partner project.”  
  
This catches everyone’s attention, probably because of the hope that we’ll get to choose our partners. This is a hope that Mr. Bitters promptly destroys by adding, “I have chosen who you are going to be working with.”  
  
Cue the chorus of groans.  
  
"I’m going to put you into your pairs first," he continues, "and then I’ll explain what we’re doing."  
  
With that, he starts reading off names, and kids move around the room so they can sit with their partners.  
  
"Emily and Mark," Mr. Bitters is saying, "Ryan and Brendon, Alison and Sage, Kellin and Vic, Nathan and Jane…"  
  
I turn to Vic. He’s looking at me now


	26. Shouldn't Have Let You Go

**Chapter 25 - Vic**  
  
Never before have I felt such conflicting emotions.  
  
There’s happiness, because it’s Kellin.  
  
But then there’s also the dread. Because it’s  _Kellin_.  
  
He moves quickly to the empty seat next to me as Mr. Bitters starts to explain the project. It doesn’t seem too complicated, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to survive it if I’m paired up with my ex-boyfriend.  
  
We get a bit of time in class to start working on it, so as soon as Mr. Bitters lets us go, Kellin says, “Vic.”  
  
He doesn’t say anything else, but that in itself is enough. It’s enough for me to hear the pain, the desperate  _wanting_ , in his voice.  
  
"No," I reply firmly. That’s enough, too—enough to erase any lingering hope that I’m going to give in and take him back. I want to—so much that it hurts—but I won’t. I can’t.  
  
"Okay," Kellin says softly.  
  
"Let’s just…do this project," I say. Even I can hear the strain in my voice. "But that’s it. Just the project."  
  
Kellin nods. “Okay,” he repeats. And that’s that.  
  
I try not to notice the state he’s in. I try not to notice the dark circles around his bloodshot eyes or the way his hair falls in disheveled clumps all around his face, as if he hasn’t bothered to do so much as look at it in over a week. I try not to notice the overall tiredness in his features or the way he keeps glancing at me, probably without even realizing it. I try not to notice that he looks like a complete mess.  
  
I want to say,  _I’m sorry._  But it won’t fix anything, so I stay silent.  
  
—  
  
"Tony and I are going out again tonight," Mike says, standing in my doorway. "You’re coming with us."  
  
I sigh from my familiar position on the bed with my guitar. “Why?”  
  
"Because you’ve been moping around all the time for the past week. You need to get out."  
  
"Who are you, my therapist?"  
  
He crosses his arms over his chest. “Yes, as a matter of fact.”  
  
I sigh again. “Fine. Whatever. When are we leaving?”  
  
"Now."  
  
I raise my eyebrows. “Dude, no. Fifteen minutes, at the least. When did you even figure out you two were going out tonight?”  
  
"Like, five minutes ago."  
  
"You know, there’s this thing called  _planning ahead_.”  
  
Mike rolls his eyes. “Fine, fine. Fifteen minutes, and then we’re meeting up with Tony. Hey, are you writing a song?”  
  
I glance at the piece of paper lying next to me. “Uh, yeah. Why?”  
  
He shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve heard you playing it. It…sounds nice.”  
  
As he turns around to leave, I call after him, “Hey. Speaking of Tony…what did he think? You know, of the drawing? I never got to ask you.”  
  
At this, a goofy grin forms on his lips. “He has it hanging on his bedroom wall. He loves it.”  
  
"I  _told_  you.”  
  
He sticks his tongue out at me. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Fifteen minutes.” Then he turns and walks out of my room, closing the door behind him.  
  
I turn my attention back to my guitar and start strumming the chords for “I’m Low on Gas and You Need a Jacket”. I’ve got most of the lyrics down now, and I sing them quietly to myself.  
  
About fifteen minutes later, Mike pops back in, but instead of telling me that it’s time to go, he says, “You should sing that song to Pretty Boy.”  
  
I set my guitar down. “How do you know it’s even meant for him?”  
  
"Come on, Vic. I’m not  _that_  stupid. Also, we’re leaving now.”  
  
We head out to the rental car. Mike insists on driving because he knows where we’re going, and I don’t argue. We could crash and burn for all I care.  
  
Once we’re on the road, I tell Mike, “It’s not finished yet anyways. The song, I mean.”  
  
"Well, you should sing it to him when it is finished."  
  
I shake my head. “I can’t.”  
  
"Why not? I showed my drawing to Tony."  
  
"Yeah, but you’re still dating Tony."  
  
"Well, you still have feelings for Kellin."  
  
When he says this, I know he’s being serious, because he calls Kellin by his real name this time.  
  
"I can’t let him know that," I say.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"I just can’t," I tell him, in a tone that I hope will end the conversation. Luckily, it does.  
  
Unfortunately, Mike’s plan has a few flaws in it when it comes to bringing me along: He wants to be alone with Tony. This, of course, means that I am going to be by myself, which is something I did not factor into the equation. I thought I’d at least be with them, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. Joy.  
  
I tell Mike that I don’t want to be alone, and I think he’s about to change his mind and let me tag along in whatever he and Tony will be doing, but then he sees something. Well…some _one_.  
  
"Hey, wait a minute," he says. We’re standing right inside the club, and Mike is pointing in the direction of the bar. "Is that Pretty Boy?"  
  
"Pretty Boy?" Tony repeats.  
  
"Kellin," I translate, following Mike’s gaze. Sure enough, there he is, sitting at the bar and drinking some sort of mystery substance.  
  
"You should talk to him," Mike says. "Get back together. I refuse to believe that Kellic Quentes has sunk."  
  
"Well, it has," I say firmly. "And it’s not un-sinking, so you’d better get that idea out of your head."  
  
"Bullshit. We’re leaving you alone now, so if you want someone to talk to, you’ve got a candidate right over there."  
  
With that, he spins around and starts to walk away. Tony’s expression seems torn between looking sympathetic and looking amused until finally he shrugs and says, “Do what you gotta do.”  
  
As he turns and follows Mike, I wonder which side that statement is supposed to be on—whether he means that it wouldn’t hurt to talk to Kellin, or that I don’t have to if I don’t want to. Or maybe it’s not on a side at all.  
  
Either way, I do not talk to Kellin, but I can’t stop myself from watching him from a distance. His face is flushed, and he looks unbalanced even when sitting. He’s smiling, but there’s a certain tightness to it, and he’s laughing, but he seems in a daze as he does, as if he’s not really there.  
  
I want to go over there and stop him before he does something dangerous, before he drinks himself to death, but I’m rooted to my spot by the promise I made myself: I will never speak to him again unless I have no choice.  
  
That’s when, out of the corner of my eye, I see Josh.  
  
And here’s the interesting thing: With Josh is another person I know—a person I’ve known practically my whole life. He’s the same person who dragged me here tonight.  
  
Mike is throwing punches like there’s no tomorrow. Tony is chasing after him, trying to grab ahold of him and hold him back, but it looks like there’s no stopping him. Josh defends himself, but he doesn’t really fight back—he seems almost bored, as if Mike attacking him isn’t really his main concern. In fact, he actually seems to be looking for something else.  
  
Or some _one_  else.  
  
Kellin looks up, and across the room, his eyes widen, locking with mine. He can see what’s happening, too, and I think that the panic jolts through me at the same time that it jolts through him.  
  
At this moment, Josh seems to find what it is that he’s looking for, and when a smirk forms on his lips, I realize that he’s staring at both of us, me and Kellin, in turn. We’re both here. The question is who he is going to go after.  
  
Josh shoves Mike away at the same time that Tony manages to pull him back. Kellin jumps up from the bar and starts running towards me, mouthing, “Go!” He’s fast, drunk as he is, and within seconds, we are only a few feet away from each other and sprinting out the door. I glance over my shoulder at Tony and Mike, who have been left behind and don’t seem to realize exactly where Josh has run off to.  
  
Josh, however, is right on our heels, and now that we’re both running in the same direction, he doesn’t have to decide which one of us to chase. We bolt out the front door and turn the corner, now at the side of the club. “Go, Vic!” Kellin yells.  
  
"But—"  
  
“Go!” He pulls out his knife. “I’ll take care of it!”  
  
I can’t help but think of how similar this scene is to the one on that first night, the night before he kissed me in the halls. Then I remember that there’s no time for nostalgia, and I spin around—right into Josh, who is smiling.  
  
"Interesting," he says slowly, glancing over my head at Kellin. "I thought you said you didn’t care about him anymore."  
  
Kellin quickly paints himself a calm mask. “I don’t,” he says simply. “It’s just like I said before: I don’t want another dead kid’s blood on my hands.”  
  
To me, it’s obvious that Kellin has been drowning his sorrows. The lie slides easily past his lips, but I can see right through it.  
  
Josh laughs, glancing between the two of us, and I know immediately that he sees right through it, too. “Oh, the look on your face, Kellin. I don’t know why I believed you for even a second. I should’ve known. I’m not sure if you’re actually broken up, but I do know that you don’t want to be.”  
  
Kellin glares at him, stepping forward. “So I’m assuming that Truce Number Two has come to an end?”  
  
 _Truce Number Two?_  They made another one?  
  
"You assume correctly," Josh says. "You said no one would come after me that’s associated with you. Mike is associated with you."  
  
"Josh, I—"  
  
Josh shuts Kellin up with a punch in the face before turning to me, but he doesn’t get a chance to make a move, because Kellin recovers quickly and stabs his knife into Josh’s shoulder.  
  
For a few seconds I just stare at the wound as Josh yells out, but then Kellin says, “Run, Vic! Go home!”  
  
Part of me almost gives in and runs away. But I don’t let it. Instead, I push myself in front of him just as Josh is throwing the punch. It’s meant for Kellin, but it hits me.  
  
"Go, Kellin!" I yell.  
  
"Are you  _crazy_?”  
  
He tries to push himself back into the fight, but Josh shoves him away and pins me to the wall. “How cute,” he says, repeatedly slamming me against it.  
  
Finally. The beating I deserve for everything.  
  
"You know it’s my fault, don’t you?" I say, in between the blows I receive. "That Oli died. If I wasn’t there, he wouldn’t have put a gun to my head. So Kellin wouldn’t have flipped out and killed him."  
  
"Vic, what the hell?" Kellin says, still trying desperately to do some damage (and get his knife back), but Josh just kicks him away.  
  
"Kellin," I gasp through gritted teeth, "go!"  
  
"Vic!"  
  
Mike’s voice is almost immediately followed up with a punch to Josh. He and Tony have finally found us, and now Josh is definitely outmatched.  
  
I stand there for a moment, frozen, before Mike grabs me by the wrist and yanks me away from the chaos. I don’t protest, because how do you tell someone that you  _want_  the pain this time?  
  
Before I know it, Mike and Tony are switching places—Tony is the one guiding me away, and Mike is the one once again in the fight. “Mike!” I shout.  
  
"It’s okay," Tony says, pulling me into the backseat of the rental car (I guess Mike gave him the keys). "He and Kellin have it under control."  
  
Sure enough, a few minutes later, Mike returns, hopping into the driver’s seat. He looks pretty beat up, but he still proudly announces, “That fucker better watch out.”  
  
"Are you gonna take Vic home?" Tony asks.  
  
"Yeah, probably. I’ll see you later, though, right?"  
  
Tony kisses him on the cheek. “Of course.” Then he jumps out of the car without another word.  
  
It’s not until we’re on the road that Mike says, “Vic, I’m really sorry. You know, about going after him. I couldn’t help it. I just saw him, and I got so fucking pissed…”  
  
"It’s okay," I assure him. "Really."  
  
"But you’re all beat up."  
  
"So are you."  
  
Mike sighs. “Okay, okay.” We’re both silent for a few seconds before he adds, “Pretty Boy isn’t hurt, either. Not badly, anyways. Well…at least from what I saw. But I think he’ll be okay. Just thought you might like to know.”  
  
I close my eyes, smiling a little and trying to believe his words instead of question them. “Yeah. Thanks.”  
  
The pain still stings, but I don’t embrace it as much as I did during the fight. I just wanted to keep Kellin from getting hurt, because he doesn’t deserve this. But suddenly, I don’t really feel like I deserve it, either.  
  
When we get home, we have the unfortunate luck of both of our parents being in the living room and seeing us as soon as we walk in the door. This means that they see the blood on our faces, and both of them are up in a millisecond.  
  
"What happened?" Mom demands.  
  
"I’ll do the explaining," I tell Mike. "You go upstairs."  _You’ve done enough for me tonight, I add silently._  
  
Mike nods and brushes past our parents, who let him. Once he’s out of earshot, Dad says, “Well?”  
  
"We got in a fight," I admit. "Mike got mad at someone and started beating him up, and then he fought back, and then I got involved, and then…yeah. This happened."  
  
"Why didn’t you stop him?" Mom says patronizingly. Here it comes.  
  
"You’ve seen Mike when he gets pissed off," I say. "You know how hard he is to control."  
  
"That’s no excuse to let him get into a  _fight_ ,” Dad says. “He just randomly turned around and started beating up this guy?”  
  
"I don’t know," I reply. "I wasn’t there in the beginning."  
  
Immediately, I realize that it was a mistake to say that.  
  
"You weren’t even  _there_?” Dad snaps.  
  
"He was with Tony!"  
  
"Well, Tony doesn’t know what we know," Dad says.  
  
"He could," I point out, but I know that that’s wrong. Mike doesn’t tell anyone about what we know. Then again, he and Tony  _do_  seem pretty close.  
  
"Vic, will you ever learn?" Mom says. "One of these days, he could die because no one was keeping an eye on him."  
  
"No!" I yell, surprising all three of us. But I’m rapidly becoming more comfortable with this idea:  _I do not deserve this shit._  So I am done with it. I’m done with every bit of it.  
  
"No," I repeat. "I am so fucking  _sick_  of this shit! I am so sick of every little thing being blamed on me. Well, I’ve got a newsflash for ya:  _I can’t do everything_! Just because I’m ‘normal’ doesn’t mean I’m okay. How would you feel if you woke up one morning and  _I_  was the one who jumped off a building? Huh?”  
  
My voice is growing louder, but I don’t stop.  
  
"Actually, don’t even answer that. I don’t want to know that you really don’t give two shits about what happens to me, because it seems I fuck everything up anyways. Guess what? I can’t save him! If you want him to stay alive, get him help and stop using me to try to cover up the fact that your son has tried to  _kill_  himself!”  
  
I have to let myself slow down for a moment at this point. My parents are looking at me as if I’ve just broken the law—which is probably because I have. The family law, anyways. It’s an unspoken law, but we all know it: Don’t ever bring up the fact that Mike Fuentes has tried to kill himself.  
  
The truth is that my brother has been close to death too many times for us to count. Not all of them were on purpose, though, or done with the intention of dying. One time, when he was twelve, he jumped out of a moving car while on the highway just because he believed that he could.  
  
Just thinking about this makes my heart beat even faster. “Don’t you think I tried to stop him before?” I say, a bit quieter. “I’d care if he died. But I can’t do everything, and I’m sick and tired of you making me feel like shit. I’m sick of feeling like I can’t do anything right. You know what? It’s not my fault.”  
  
Oh, how long I’ve been waiting to be able to say that.  
  
"It’s not my fault," I say again, just for the satisfaction of saying it. "And it’s not Mike’s fault either." With that, I push past my parents and head up the stairs without looking back, leaving them both, for once, speechless.  
  
When I get to my room, I find Mike sitting on my bed, scribbling in his notebook. “Hey,” he says, glancing up. “I, uh…I heard you talking down there.”  
  
I close the door behind me. “You did?”  
  
He nods. “Yeah.” At first, I think he’s going to say something specific about what he heard, but then he just says, “That was so fucking…brave. I don’t think you’ve ever stood up to them like that before.”  
  
I shake my head. “No. Never.”  
  
"I think Josh has something to do with it."  
  
I raise an eyebrow, sitting down next to him. “Josh?”  
  
"Yeah. I mean, he acts like he wants you dead or something. I’d be so fucking paranoid if I was in your place. But you’re just so…brave."  
  
I can’t help but think about how if it weren’t for Kellin, I probably wouldn’t even know that Josh exists. I also can’t disagree with what Mike is saying—and that’s when I realize something. It’s something that makes me happy and sad at the same time.  
  
This is what I know: If Kellin hadn’t kissed me in the hallway that day, I would still be afraid.  
  
—  
  
That night, I have a dream. I dream that I am standing on the front porch of the house with my dad, and I am talking to him.  
  
"Dad," I say, "I’m suffering from horrifically low self-esteem and a breakup with a boy worth stealing the stars for."  
  
Without missing a beat, my dad replies, “Hi, Suffering From Horrifically Low Self-Esteem And a Breakup With a Boy Worth Stealing the Stars For. I’m Dad.”  
  
 _Dad, what the fuck?_  I think.  _Why do I even bother?_  
  
Then I wake up, unsure of whether to laugh because of the absurdity or to cry because that is (to a certain degree) probably similar to what would happen in real life. In the end, I force myself to laugh, because I’ve been doing a lot of crying lately.  
  
At school, I look for Kellin and find him standing by his locker. He looks beat up, more than Mike implied, and I can’t help but think that that’s my fault, too.  
  
Then I remind myself:  _It is not your fault. You do not deserve this._  I don’t believe it as much as I did yesterday, but the fearlessness is still there, somewhere.  
  
Just before first period, Justin walks up to me. “Would you want to go joyriding with Kellin tonight?” he says bluntly, getting straight to the point. “He says he wanted to take you sometime and let you do that thing that he does with the sunroof, but he never got a chance to. I’d be the one driving.”  
  
I shake my head, pushing away the part of me that really does want to. “No, thanks. Sorry.”  
  
He just shrugs. “Okay. Whatever.”  
  
But as he walks away, an idea starts forming in my head. An idea to protect Kellin for good. An idea that could end this.  
  
And suddenly, I have to talk to Josh. I have to stop everything.


	27. The Mess That I've Become

**Chapter 26 - Kellin**  
  
“Kellin!” Justin calls. “Where are you going?”  
  
It’s after school, and I’m standing by the front door of the apartment. “Out.”  
  
"Out where?"  
  
"I don’t know yet. Somewhere."  
  
He just looks at me. “Kellin.”  
  
"What? I’ll be fine, Justin." With that, I walk out the door, not bothering to wait for his response.  
  
It’s getting darker, the sun turning everything a bright orange color before it disappears. The air isn’t too cold, but it’s cool enough to make me wish for my jacket. As I walk through the city, these are the things I try to notice until I’m no longer sober, so the pain doesn’t try to creep back up on me.  
  
Bobby, the bouncer outside the club, raises his eyebrows when he sees me. “Again?”  
  
I give him my ID, though he’s looked at it a hundred times before. “Yep. Got a problem with that, Bobby?”  
  
"I do, actually," he says, barely glancing at it before handing it back to me. "I don’t know much about you, Kellin, but from what Tracy’s told me, I can guess there’s something up."  
  
I snort. “Since when do dealers, bouncers, and bartenders even give a shit about druggies like me?”  
  
He shrugs. “Good point. Just try not to die.” Then he flashes me a little smile. “Not here, at least. It’d be bad for our reputation.”  
  
I return the smile. “No promises.”  
  
Tracy isn’t working tonight. Instead, it’s Brian, who, upon seeing me sit down on a barstool, says, “Kellin, I really don’t think being here is a good idea.”  
  
"Why not?"  
  
He just gives me a look. “Because the last time I saw you, you were way too close to dying.”  
  
I shrug. “It won’t get that bad tonight.” Before he can object, I pull a white pill out of my pocket and pop it into my mouth.  
  
"Kellin—" Brian starts, but a person calling his name cuts him off. "I have to go," he says, and then he rushes away.  
  
I’m only there for another fifteen minutes before I recognize someone standing at the side of the club, his back against the wall. It’s Jesse, and the mere sight of him immediately reminds me of everything that has happened—of why I’m even here in the first place.  
  
I’m here to drown my sorrows. I’m here because of Vic.  
  
The thought of his name is what makes me stand up and walk over to Jesse. He notices me coming and straightens up, probably preparing for a fight, but that’s not what I’m going over there for. I’ve snapped in a different sort of way.  
  
I grab his arm and yank him into the bathroom, and as soon as the door slams closed behind us, I push him against the wall.  
  
I blame the drugs for what happens next.  
  
"I’ve missed you," I say. It’s a lie, but I say it anyways.  
  
And then I kiss him.  
  
I almost want him to push me away, but he doesn’t. Instead, after a pause of surprise, his hands find my hips, and he kisses me back, harder. Before I can even consider pulling away, he picks me up like I’m nothing and flips us around so that now I’m the one against the wall.  
  
Then I think some sense slips into him, because he slows down noticeably, beginning to hesitate. Reality starts to claw its way back into my mind, calling out,  _Hey, remember Vic? The boy you love? The boy who broke your heart? Ha!_  
  
So I kiss him even harder, grinding myself against him, just to shut that voice up. That’s really the only reason I’m doing this.  
  
Our lips disconnect for a split second, so I take my chance to tease him: “I knew it. You missed me, too.”  
  
"Didn’t miss you, Whore," he replies, his voice right at my ear. "Just your body."  
  
His fingers are pushing my shirt up as he kisses me again, but then, in the back of my mind, I start to think about what he just said.  
  
 _Didn’t miss you, Whore. Just your body._  
  
But I am more than just my body.  
  
I can’t let it define me again.  
  
I shove him away, feeling a wave of sense and reality crash back over my head. “I’m not your whore,” I tell him. “I’m not  _anyone’s_  whore!”  
  
Jesse takes a few steps back, obviously surprised by this sudden turn of events. “Kellin—”  
  
"Yeah," I interrupt, my voice shaky and cracking. "That’s right. Kellin. Not Whore.  _Kellin_!”  
  
Before he can say anything, I push past him, back out of the bathroom and into the main club area. Vic and I have broken up, but I still feel like I’ve cheated on him.  
  
"I’m sorry, Vic!" I yell, though I know he can’t hear me, and it’ll just make me look like a freak. "I’m sorry!" Then I run back to my seat and call out, "Brian!"  
  
Brian pops up almost instantaneously. “Yeah?”  
  
"I need a drink," I say quickly, my hands beginning to shake. "Whatever it was that I had the other night. I don’t remember what it was."  
  
"But you’re already on drugs—"  
  
"I puked them out," I lie automatically. "That’s why I was just in the bathroom. ‘Cause I was, uh, starting to have a bad roll."  
  
He raises an eyebrow skeptically. “But does that even w—”  
  
"Brian!" I snap. "I need it. Now."  
  
He holds his hands up in surrender and proceeds to get my drink. “Okay, okay, jeez!”  
  
I’ve only just downed that whole drink when I see someone else I recognize. This person, however, I have no desire to make out with (and probably never will).  
  
I do, however, have a desire to give this person what he probably wants.  
  
Josh sees me at the same time that I see him. Our eyes lock.  
  
Once again, I am up from my seat, walking towards him. It’s exactly what he wants—I can see it on his face.  
  
"This is for Oli," he says simply. Then I’m back in the bathroom—though Jesse, I notice, is nowhere to be found—and up against the wall. But this time, it’s not for a kiss, but a fist.  
  
I fight back, but only enough so that it looks like I’m actually trying to get away. But I now have both drugs and alcohol running rampant inside my body, and everything is spinning, and things are really starting to hurt, and I just don’t give a fuck anymore.  
  
So this is what I do:  
  
I let him beat me as much as he wants. If he turns me into a bloody pulp, then so be it. At least if I’m dead I don’t have to think about Vic.  
  
—  
  
There are bright lights and voices. There is a pounding in my head and horrifically blurred vision. There is massive confusion and massive pain. And then, after my eyes start to adjust and my mind catches up, there is Justin, and there is Gabe, and there is a club bathroom.  
  
I groan, shutting my eyes. “What the fuck just happened to me?”  
  
"Well, from what I can see and what Brian told me, you got high, and drunk, and beat up by someone,” Justin says.  
  
I nod as it starts to come back to me. “Yeah. Josh.”  
  
"You okay?" Gabe asks.  
  
At this moment, I feel my stomach flip violently. “Oh God,” I whisper, desperately crawling towards a stall and flinging the door open. Just as I reach the toilet, I throw up.  
  
"Uh," Gabe says slowly, "I’ll take that as a no."  
  
After I’m done, I pull myself (with much difficulty) to my feet, wiping the sweat off my forehead. Across the room, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror—my bright red face, my raccoon eyes, my cut and bruised skin, my skinny-as-fuck arms. “Well,  _that’s_  attractive,” I mutter to myself, referring to both my reflection and the puke.  
  
"We’re taking you home," Justin announces.  
  
I shake my head. “No. I’m staying.”  
  
"There is no way in hell you’re staying," Justin says.  
  
"Justin, please? I’ll be fine."  
  
"You don’t  _look_  fine,” Gabe points out.  
  
I groan, covering my face with my hands and sinking back to the floor, my back against the wall. “I’ll be fine once I’m high again.”  
  
"The fact that you’re saying that is exactly the reason why you’re coming home," Justin says.  
  
I sigh. “Come on. You guys can stay, too, if you want to keep an eye on me.”  
  
Justin and Gabe exchange glances, having a silent conversation that I’m not a part of. Finally, Justin turns back to me.  
  
"Fine," he says. "We’ll give you one more chance. But if anything else happens here tonight, you better bet your ass you’re not staying."  
  
Slowly, I stand back up. “Fantastic.”  
  
So we all head back out into the club, where I reclaim my barstool once again. My drink is still here, which means I must not have been out for that long—though when I glance outside, I find that everything is dark. Maybe things are slow tonight.  
  
The effects of the drugs and alcohol have worn off, so I am now almost unbearably sober. I ask Brian for a refill, and he regards me with concern but doesn’t object.  
  
This is how I come to be drunk, drunk to the point of it being dangerous. I don’t know how many drinks I’ve had, and the world thinks it’s funny to keep spinning all around me. My feet think it’s funny to not go where I tell them to. My tongue thinks it’s funny to fuck up all my words.  
  
Now Justin is next to me. “Kellin?” he says, his voice muffled. “Are you gay?”  
  
Well,  _that’s_  a weird question to ask. “What? Of course I’m gay!” I say.  
  
He shakes his head. “Kellin,  _are you okay_?”  
  
Oh.  
  
"Uh, yeah," I reply.  
  
Now he says, “Are you hitting Vic?”  
  
Am I  _what_? “No! Why the hell would I hit Vic?”  
  
"Kellin, I said,  _Are you getting sick_?”  
  
Suddenly, something snaps inside of me for what feels like the hundredth time. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s the mention of Vic, even though that was only in my head. Maybe it’s both. But before I know it, I’m standing up. I can physically feel the anger and pain tearing me apart, and it’s suffocating me.  
  
"No," I choke out. "I’m fine." Then I run out of the club.  
  
It’s raining hard, but that doesn’t stop me. Even in the dark, I catch a glimpse of something familiar only a few feet away from me. It’s a car. Specifically, it’s the gang’s car.  
  
And then I’m not even thinking. I pull out my knife—a hammer or baseball bat probably would’ve been better, but this’ll have to work—and make my way to the car.  
  
"Fuck you!" I yell. And I smash my fist into the passenger seat window.  
  
The glass shatters, cutting my hand, but I keep going, bringing my knife down on the side of the car. I kick it, I punch it, I scratch it up, I break all the windows. The whole time, I’m yelling the same thing over and over again: “Fuck you! Fuck you!  _FUCK YOU_!”  
  
My vision is blurred and my chest and throat are burning, but I don’t care. I hate everything, and I say just as much with my knife. On the side of the car, I write out my frustrations in uneven lettering:  _I hate you I hate me I hate him I hate them I hate life._  
  
Then I bring the blade up to my head and start hacking away at my hair.  
  
I only get a few cuts in before my legs give out and I sink to the ground, still clutching my knife in my shaking hands. My breath is fast and shallow, and after a few seconds I realize that it’s because I’m bawling, so far past the verge of hysteria.  
  
"Kellin!" someone calls, and then there are hands grabbing me, pulling me up to my feet. Justin.  
  
"What’s going on?" That’s Gabe. He now has a hold on me, too.  
  
Justin yanks the knife out of my hands. “Kellin! Are you okay?”  
  
I’m crying too hard to say anything, so I just shake my head.  
  
"Okay, that’s it," Justin says. "We’re taking you home."  
  
They drag me down the street, both of them holding me up because I can barely go two steps without collapsing. “Don’t leave,” I whisper. “Please don’t leave.”  
  
"We’re not leaving you, Kell," Justin assures me, but I keep saying it anyways.  
  
I’m not much better by the time we get back to the apartment. I run back into my room before Justin or Gabe can stop me, nearly tripping over my own feet on my way. I’m still crying, and as soon as I slam the door shut behind me, I pull out my phone and call a number I never thought I’d use again.  
  
I fall into my bed, lying on my side while I wait for someone to pick up. Then a woman’s voice says, “Hello?”  
  
It’s that voice that brings it all back once again. I burst into tears, hugging my knees to my chest and crying so hard that I think I’m going to throw up again. “Mom,” I sob. “Mom, I know you don’t care, but I think I’m dying.”  
  
There’s a pause, an intake of breath. Then she says, “Kellin?”  
  
"Yeah," I gasp. "Yeah, it’s me. It’s me and I just wanted to let you know that I think I’m dying because this hurts so fucking much. Do you remember Vic, Mom? I love him. I love him and I don’t care if you think that’s sick, except I know you don’t because you and Dad have friends who are gay, and even though you kicked me out when I told you I was gay I know that was just an excuse to finally get rid of me and I’m sorry I was so horrible that you had to. But I love Vic, except Vic thinks it’s better for him to stay away from me, and maybe that’s true and maybe it isn’t, but I don’t want him to stay away from me! I don’t care how fucking selfish that might be because I just want him here with me right now and I hate him for doing this to me but at the same time I don’t hate him at all. I hate Josh and I hate Jesse and I hate Jack for leaving and I hate you, too, for making me leave, and I hate myself for being such a stupid, needy fuck-up, and why do I even have to feel anything? I just want things to be  _okay_! Vic made things okay, he made them great, and now he’s gone and things aren’t okay! Why can’t they just be okay for once? Why can’t  _I_  just be okay for once? Is that too fucking much to ask for?”  
  
And then I realize that she doesn’t care. She doesn’t give a shit about what her crazy, stupid, drunk, delirious son has to say and she doesn’t give a shit about this boy named Vic and she doesn’t give a shit that things aren’t okay for me. So I hang up on her and throw my phone across the room, and then, thankfully, the alcohol finally pulls me under.  
  
—  
  
"Kellin. Wake up."  
  
Justin’s voice breaks through my sleep, and automatically, I swat him away with my hand. When I realize that I’m not touching anything, I open my eyes to find that he’s not near my bed but standing in the doorway.  
  
"No," I say.  
  
"Yes. You’ve gotta get up for school."  
  
I groan. “I’m not going to school today.”  
  
Something stops him from arguing with me like he normally would. It’s probably what happened last night, and the fact that I most likely look like complete shit.  
  
"Go," I add. "You don’t have to watch over me. I’ll be fine."  
  
"You said that last night, too," he says, but still he turns to walk away.  
  
"Wait," I call. "Could you do me a favor?"  
  
He turns back to me. “What?”  
  
"Well, I would  _love_  it if you’d just put twenty bullets through my brain right now. That’d be real nice.”  
  
He gives me a hard stare. “Kellin, no. You’re staying alive.”  
  
I close my eyes, groaning. “But living is so much  _harder_.”  
  
"Thank you, Captain Obvious."  
  
I laugh bitterly.  
  
"Nice haircut," he adds after a few seconds.  
  
"Haircut?" I lift my hand up and run it through my hair. Sure enough, the strands in the back are now a bit shorter than the ones in the front. "Oh, yeah," I say, remembering last night’s hysteria. "Huh. I’ll have to get used to that. But seriously, dude, just go. I’ll be okay."  
  
After a long pause, Justin says, “Fine.” When I open my eyes again, he’s gone.  
  
My day mainly consists of me pacing back and forth, moping, and inhaling repeatedly. I lose track of how many times I come back to it with a promise of only one more hit, and then a few minutes later, I break that promise yet again. All I know is that it goes on for hours, and I only pass out once. That has to break some sort of record.  
  
But once I actually wake up again, I decide that I can’t stand being here any longer. I have to get out of this suffocating apartment. So I grab a cigarette and my lighter, and then I’m out the door.  
  
—  
  
When I hear the voices, I’ve just finished smoking my aforementioned cigarette and tossed it onto the ground. (Will I go to hell for littering? Probably. Do I care? Not really.) At first, I ignore them, but then they start to get louder. Or maybe not louder. Just…closer.  
  
And then they seem to be right on top of me as I make my way down the empty sidewalk. I spin around—too late. Josh is already right in front of me, with at least four other people backing him up.  
  
 _Maybe I can outrun them,_  I think, but just as I turn on my heel to try this theory, Josh grabs me by my wrist and yanks me back. Fuck.  
  
"You trashed our car, you fucking prick," he snarls.  
  
Oh, double-fuck.  
  
I was so worked up last night that I didn’t even realize what would happen. Of course they’d know it was me. Of course they wouldn’t just let it slide. I’m dead now.  
  
Sure enough, the fists come flying, and I can’t fight them when Josh has tied my hands behind my back. Literally.  
  
"What the fuck—" I gasp, struggling in vain against the duct tape binding. And then I hear the honking of a car.  
  
"We had to find a new one," Josh continues as his gang starts to drag me along. "Thanks for that, Kellin. We’ve got ourselves a plan now."  
  
The car parks on the side of the road, and then I realize what’s happening: They’re taking me.  
  
I glance frantically around me. There has to be someone who can help me.  
  
So, as the darkness starts to close in and I feel myself losing consciousness from the blows, I try something.  
  
"Red cup!" I yell. " _RED CUP_!”


	28. Safe & Sound

**Chapter 27 - Vic**  
  
I’m walking down the empty street when I hear it.  
  
I’d recognize his voice anywhere, and that voice is yelling out, “ _Red cup_!”  
  
Fuck.  
  
I can see them up ahead now—Josh, his gang, and the boy that they’re attacking. The boy worth stealing the stars for.  
  
They’ve tied him up, and now they’re shoving him into the backseat of an unfamiliar car. He doesn’t seem to be fighting—not anymore, at least. But he was. I could hear him.  
  
Time seems to stop as I realize what I have to do. There is no one else out here, and even if there was, they probably wouldn’t care. It has to be me. I can’t let them hurt him.  
  
It doesn’t matter that we’ve broken up, that I’ve been trying my hardest to cut myself out of his life. He’s in danger. He needs me.  
  
So, without any more hesitation, I run after the car that is now speeding away from me. There is only one word on my lips.  
  
_Kellin._  
  
—  
  
I lose the car pretty quickly, but I’ve got a few ideas as to where they’re headed. I run like the devil’s chasing after me, barely slowing down even when my lungs feel like they’re about to burst out of my chest.  _I have to get to Kellin,_  I think, repeating it in my head like a chant.  _I have to get to Kellin. I have to get to Kellin._  
  
I breathe a sigh of relief when I finally reach HQ and see that the car is parked right outside. I pause for a few minutes to catch my breath, just in case I need to be quiet, and then I open the door slowly, wincing when it makes a small creaking noise. But behind that door, there’s the familiar emptiness of the first floor that I noticed the last time I was here.  
  
I stop in my tracks at the thought of last time. Last time, I tried to make things better, but I only ended up killing Oli and earning myself a spot on death row. Who’s to say something like that won’t happen again?  
  
_I have to try,_  I tell myself. I take a step into the building.  
  
Just like last time, the trapdoor is open, and voices float up from it. I try to make my steps as light as possible as I make my way over to it and take the first few steps down into the basement.  
  
Now I’m at the same spot I was at last time, mostly hidden from view and able to see and hear better. With my heart pounding in my ears, I dare to peer over the edge.  
  
On the emptier side of the basement, Kellin is duct-taped to a chair, which, no matter how hard he struggles against it, stays rooted to its spot. “Fucking hell, Josh,” he says. “What did you do, superglue it to the floor?”  
  
Josh smirks. “Something like that.”  
  
He’s pacing back and forth around the chair, with at least five other guys surrounding him. At this point, it dawns on me that I don’t stand much of a chance. I’m small, I’ve got barely any fighting experience, and I don’t even have a weapon with me.  
  
The reason I was walking down that particular street is because of what I planned to do: I planned to find Josh. But not to fight; to talk. I wanted to find him and somehow make him leave us all alone. I could still try to do that now, but would I even have a chance to speak before the gang pounced on me?  
  
"You know, this is really stereotypical," Kellin says. "Kidnapping me. Tying me to a chair in the basement. Why did you kidnap me, anyways? Just couldn’t get enough of me, huh?"  
  
One guy turns to Josh. “Should I duct-tape his mouth?”  
  
Josh shakes his head, still smirking. “Nah. It’s amusing. And to answer your question, Kellin: You’re bait.”  
  
And then everything clicks.  
  
It’s the same stunt they pulled the other night, taking him to lure me. The truces are over. Josh still wants revenge. And I’ve played right into it.  
  
I consider trying to get ahold of Justin and Gabe somehow, but then I remember my original plan. Bringing an army with me will make me seem like more of a threat, and I don’t want that. I just want this whole thing to be over.  
  
Kellin seems to realize their intentions at the same moment that I do. “You son of a  _bitch_!” he spits, struggling even more fiercely in his chair. “If you lay one fucking hand on him, I’ll rip your motherfucking throat out!”  
  
Josh’s smirk widens into a full-out grin. “Good luck with that, Lover Boy.”  
  
I take a deep breath. I have to do it. I have to fix this.  
  
I walk down the rest of the stairs.  
  
"Hey!" someone snaps, and everyone turns to me.  
  
I hold my hands up before they have a chance to murder me. “Whoa, hold up a second! I just came to talk, okay?”  
  
"Bullshit!" a familiar voice yells, followed by a flying knife in my direction. It misses me by a millimeter, and when I turn to see who threw it, I see a red-haired guy I didn’t notice before stepping out of the shadows. Jesse.  
  
From this moment forward, any semblance of fragile peace is thrown out the window. The whole gang is on top of me, but I fight them off easier than I usually do. The mantra is back in my head again— _I have to get to Kellin, I have to get to Kellin_ —as my body works faster than my mind, punching and kicking and dodging.  
  
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that the knife Jesse threw happened to land near where Kellin is sitting, and now he’s using it to cut himself free.  
  
Then Josh comes out of nowhere with a punch that knocks me backward. I fall to the floor, but he pulls me up roughly, and then I feel the cold metal now pressed to the side of my head.  
  
Josh is holding a gun to my temple, and there’s no doubt he has his finger on the trigger.  
  
"One move," he hisses, "one attempt at getting away, and your brains will be all over these walls."  
  
Terror consumes me. “Kellin,” I choke out through the tightening of my throat.  
  
He’s almost free, but two guys have surrounded him and seem to be holding him back. “Vic!” he yells.  
  
I close my eyes. It doesn’t matter whether I move or not. It’s going to happen anyways. It was always going to end this way.  
  
_Bang!_  
  
When I don’t feel any pain, I open my eyes slowly.  _I’m not dead,_  I realize. _Why am I not dead?_  
  
That’s when I see that the gun that has just been fired was not Josh’s, but Kellin’s. He has broken away from the two guys attacking him, and his gun is still aimed at Josh, who has been knocked away from me. His own gun has clattered to the floor, and he’s holding a hand up to his bleeding shoulder, gritting his teeth in an effort to keep from screaming out.  
  
"I’ll finish the job," Kellin says, his voice deadly calm.  
  
For a moment, Josh just glares at him, breathing hard. Then I see a flash in his pocket, and before I can act on it, he has whipped his knife out and is holding it against my throat.  
  
"I will, too," he says.  
  
With no warning, Kellin jumps, letting another bullet fly. This one misses, but in the span of less than a second, Kellin has pushed Josh away from me and pinned him to the nearby wall.  
  
“ _I’ll fucking kill you_!” he screams, edging on hysteria now. He pulls his gun up, about to press it to Josh’s head and shoot, but then I find my voice.  
  
"Kellin, no!"  
  
I don’t realize that the words have formed until they actually come out of my mouth. Everything freezes, and with the gun still aimed, Kellin turns around to look at me. His hair is falling into his face, his eyes are wide and almost crazed, and his breath hitches—it’s the only sound in the room. He seems almost terrifying, even insane, and I can’t help but really understand—finally—why he’s so afraid of himself.  
  
"Kellin," I say, softer. "Josh. Jesse. Everyone. Can we  _stop_  this? Please?”  
  
Something seems to change in Kellin. I can see him physically grow calmer, and it looks like sense is returning to him. After a moment of hesitation, he lets go of Josh and takes a few steps back.  
  
"I didn’t mean for this to happen," he says. "When I first stole the money from you guys, I didn’t expect…I don’t know what I expected. But I didn’t expect to kill anybody."  
  
Everyone watches him with interest, their eyes boring down on him. I can’t help but feel like we’re walking right on the edge of a cliff. If we go too far one way, we’ll fall right into it, and that will be the end of us.  
  
"If you leave us alone," Kellin continues, "we’ll leave you alone. I’ll make sure of that. This isn’t temporary. This isn’t a truce that can be broken. If we run into each other, we won’t do anything. I don’t care how much you hate me, or how much you hate Vic. No matter what happens, we stay separate. I’m not going to come after any of you. I just don’t want to interact with you ever again."  
  
I nod my agreement, feeling my pulse slow down slightly.  _We’re going to be okay. We’re going to be okay._  
  
"And how do we know you’re not lying?" Josh asks.  
  
"Because we have nothing to gain," Kellin says. "Sure, I could kill you for trying to kill Vic, but it wouldn’t change the fact that you tried to kill Vic. Just like you could get revenge on me for killing Oli, but it wouldn’t bring him back." He takes a step toward Josh. "And anyways, Josh, it was an _accident_. Saying you want revenge on me for killing Jenna or Oli is like if they’d died in a car accident and you said that you wanted revenge on the person who’d crashed into them. That person isn’t a murderer. They just fucked up.” He turns back toward everyone in the room. “Now, like Vic said: Can we  _please_  just  _stop_  all this drama? Live and let live?”  
  
After a moment of silence, Josh says, “Okay. If you leave us alone, we won’t come after you. For anything.”  
  
His words seem so final, and Kellin and I exchange a glance of surprise. I can’t believe it, and I don’t think he can, either. It’s over. It’s really over.  
  
Kellin nods. “Then I think we’re done here.”  
  
But before we can turn around, Jesse calls, “Wait.”  
  
Kellin raises an eyebrow as Jesse pulls his jacket off, the jacket that Kellin stole. “I think you deserve this, Kellin,” he says, holding it out. “It fits better on you anyway.”  
  
Slowly, Kellin steps forward and takes it from him, slipping it on. “Jesse, are you a part of this gang?”  
  
He nods. “Think so, yeah.”  
  
"Then all this applies to you, too," Kellin tells him. "No bullshit about your ‘personal’ revenge." He puts the word "personal" in air quotes.  
  
"I know," Jesse says.  
  
A secret look passes between them, and even though I’m not a part of it, I think I understand what it means. It’s not a look of love or longing. It’s a goodbye.  
  
"Well, boys," Kellin says, spinning on his heel and heading for the stairs, "it was nice doing business with you." He gives them all a two-fingered salute, and then we both make our way up and out of the basement.  
  
Neither of us says anything until we’re standing outside of HQ. Then we both seem to breathe a long sigh of relief, and Kellin says, “Now I’ll finally be able to sleep at night.”  
  
"Tell me about it," I agree, turning the corner to the alley at the side of the building.  
  
He follows me, leaning against one wall as I lean against the other. For a moment, we just stare at each other awkwardly. Then Kellin breaks the silence. “Vic,” he says slowly. “Vic, I…thanks.”  
  
I know he wants to say something else, but I don’t blame him for not saying it. He thinks I’ll just reject him again.  
  
But he’s wrong this time.  
  
Maybe somewhere in the depths of my mind, there is a voice that tells me not to do what I’m thinking of doing. But if there is, it has no effect on me.  
  
Without replying, I take a step forward. And I kiss him.  
  
He seems caught off-guard, but then he kisses me back, roughly. He pushes me against the wall, hands on my hips as he moves his lips against mine.  
  
In between kisses, I am gasping out, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” and he just slides his tongue into my mouth as a response. I reach up and tangle my fingers in his hair—which seems to be a bit shorter in the back now—as I deepen the kiss even more.  
  
When we finally pull away from each other, I’m out of breath, and Kellin is, too, his face bright red. “Oh, Vic,” he gasps. “I didn’t think—I thought you left me for good—I thought I was gonna have to get over y—”  
  
"I don’t want you to get over me," I interrupt, my fingers brushing the side of his face. "I just wanted you to be safe. I didn’t want to cause you any more pain."  
  
"But you  _weren’t_ ,” he says, sounding genuinely confused as to why I’ve been thinking this way. “You never were. You make me  _happy_ , Vic.”  
  
I can’t help it. I lean forward and fold myself into him, and he wraps his arms around me as I rest my head on his shoulder.  
  
"I want to start over," Kellin says. "Without all the drama and shit. I want it to just be us. You and me and Justin and Gabe and Mike and Tony. I just want to be with you."  
  
"I want that, too," I admit. "I hate that I wrote you that stupid fucking letter."  
  
"We can burn it with my lighter," he suggests.  
  
I grab his hand and link his fingers with mine. “Kellin, will you be my boyfriend?”  
  
"That’s not even a question."  
  
—  
  
“ _But last night_ ,” I sing, “ _you said you ended up in Palm Springs, dancing on tables…_ ”  
  
With that, I strum the final chord of “I’m Low on Gas and You Need a Jacket”. It’s the day after school let out for the summer, and Kellin and I are hanging out in his room. He finally convinced me to play him the song I wrote after I broke up with him, and I have just finished doing that.  
  
The thing about this song is that not all of it is completely true—not in a literal sense, at least. Part of it I wrote about Kellin’s life with the absurdity of something you’d see on MTV—I’m pretty sure he has never actually danced on tables in Palm Springs, but the things he does seem so crazy sometimes that it’s almost like he has.  
  
I get an ache in my chest from playing it, and from the look on Kellin’s face, I think he gets one from hearing it. “That’s amazing,” he breathes. He’s sitting across from me on his bed, and I am in a desk chair with Jack’s guitar. “Sad, but amazing.”  
  
I stand up and set the guitar down on the bed. I’m not sure how to respond, but Kellin saves me by adding, “I don’t want to be just another set of bones to lay to rest.” He pulls me down onto his lap, and I don’t protest.  
  
"I don’t want you to be, either," I say, wrapping my legs around his waist and kissing him softly.  
  
At that moment, there’s a banging on the door. “Okay, dorks!” Justin yells, which is what he has taken to calling us. “Your ride’s here! I’d come in but I’m afraid you two are doing something I don’t wanna see!”  
  
"That’s probably a smart move," Kellin calls back. "We’ll be right there."  
  
—  
  
Half an hour later, I’m flying.  
  
We’re driving through the field—Tony is, at least. Mike is in the passenger seat, and Kellin and I? We’re standing up, out of the sunroof.  
  
I feel terrifyingly off-balance at first, as if I could blow away at any moment. But then I feel Kellin right behind me, keeping me steady with his hands on my hips. “It’s okay,” he assures me.  
  
Slowly, I spread my arms out, feeling the wind whip around me and the setting sun on my skin. My heart rate slows down, and I turn my face to look at Kellin. “I’m flying, Jack,” I tell him.  
  
He laughs. “You would make a great Rose.”  
  
I laugh, too. “Juliet, Rapunzel, and now Rose…I’m having an identity crisis. Who am I?”  
  
"Like I said before…you can be whoever you want to be."  
  
I peck his lips. “Then I’m Vic,” I say. “I’m your boyfriend.”  
  
"Fuck yes."  
  
Our plan is to run away for a little while. We’re driving to the other side of the field, just to see what we’ll find. It’s a plan we’ve had in mind since September.  
  
Below me, a familiar song starts to roll out of the car. “Hey,” I say. “Listen.” It’s “MakeDamnSure”.  
  
Kellin smiles, removing his hands from my waist and letting me rest against him as he spreads his own arms out. “ _You are everything I want_ ,” he sings, “‘ _cause you are everything I’m not…_ ”  
  
"Hey, that’s  _my_  line.”  
  
And then we are singing at the top of our lungs, raising our fists to the sky for an imaginary crowd. We probably sound insane, but it doesn’t matter.  
  
If someone were to ask me to tell the story of my first love, I would say that I met a boy at seventeen, and this boy was brilliant and incredible and made me feel like I was something. I would tell them about the process of falling, the three-month hiatus, the reunion, the gang. I would tell the story as best I could, so that maybe, just maybe, they would be able to understand what I felt.  
  
But Kellin is not just a story, and words could never hope to do him justice. He is a person, and he is standing right next to me as we leave everything else behind. Nothing can hurt us. We are invincible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Admit it. You thought someone was going to die.
> 
> seriously though thanks for reading this story! It was a lot of fun :)
> 
> also…there will NOT be a sequel. I’ve got so many other fic ideas in my head that if I tried to continue this one my brain would probably explode. plus, I like how it ends, y’know? with Kellin and Vic riding off into the sunset…literally.
> 
> I made a mix on 8tracks for this fic as well, which you can find [here](http://8tracks.com/ashesashes/met-a-boy-at-seventeen-kellic).
> 
> So yes, it is the end. May your days be filled with gay.


End file.
